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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

BEQUEST 

OF 
ANITA  D.  S.  BLAKE 


Courtesy  The  Players. 
Author   of   a   "Best   Seller"   That 
Has  Not  Been  Forgotte 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 


AGNES    OF    SORRENTO. 


MRS.  HARRIET   BEECHER   STOWE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN,"  "THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING,"  ETC. 


THIHD    EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR    AND     FIELDS. 

•     1862. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

MBS.  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  H.  0.  HOUOHTON. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAOI 
THE   OLD   TOWN 7 

CHAPTER  H. 
THE  DOVE-COT 15 

CHAPTER  HI. 
THE  GORGE 21 

CHAPTER  IV. 
WHO  AND   WHAT .          .27 

CHAPTER  V. 
IL  PADRE   FRANCESCO .38 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  WALK  TO   THE  CONVENT 52 

CHAPTER  VH. 
THE   DAY  AT   THE   CONVENT          .  .  .  .  .  .68 

CHAPTER  VHI. 
THE   CAVALIER 88 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE   ARTIST   MONK 96 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  INTERVIEW  .    123 


iv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XI. 

PAGE 

THE   CONFESSIONAL 142 

CHAPTER  XII. 
PERPLEXITIES 150 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    MONIt   AND    THE    CAVALIER 170 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   MONK'S    STRUGGLE 184 

CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  SERPENT'S  EXPERIMENT    .        .        .        .        *        .210 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

ELSIE   PUSHES    HER    SCHEME 215 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE  MONK'S  DEPARTURE 236 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
THE  PENANCE 250 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
CLOUDS  DEEPENING 262 

CHAPTER  XX. 
FLORENCE  AND  HER  PROPHET 281 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  ATTACK  ON  SAN  MARCO 291 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   CATHEDRAL 301 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE   PILGRIMAGE 319 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PAGE 
THE   MOUNTAIN-FORTRESS 331 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
THE    CRISIS 344 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 
ROME 4        .     360 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
THE  SAINT'S  REST 369 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
PALM   SUNDAY 380 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
THE   NIGHT-RIDE 389 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
"LET   US    ALSO    GO,   THAT   WE   MAY   DIE   WITH   HIM*'         .      401 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
MARTYRDOM 408 

CHAPTER  XXXH. 
CONCLUSION          .  ,411 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    OLD    TOWN. 

THE  setting  sunbeams  slant  over  the  antique  gateway  of 
Sorrento,  fusing  into  a  golden  bronze  the  brown  freestone 
vestments  of  old  Saint  Antonio,  who  with  his  heavy  stone 
mitre  and  upraised  hands  has  for  centuries  kept  watch  there 
upon. 

A  quiet  time  he  has  of  it  up  there  in  the  golden  Italian 
air,  in  petrified  act  of  blessing,  while  orange  lichens  and  green 
mosses  from  year  to  year  embroider  quaint  patterns  on  the 
seams  of  his  sacerdotal  vestments,  and  small  tassels  of  grass 
volunteer  to  ornament  the  folds  of  his  priestly  drapery,  and 
golden  showers  of  blossoms  from  some  more  hardy  plant  fall 
from  his  ample  sleeve-cuffs.  Little  birds  perch  and  chitter 
and  wipe  their  beaks  unconcernedly,  now  on  the  tip  of  his 
nose  and  now  on  the  point  of  his  mitre,  while  the  world 
below  goes  on  its  way  pretty  much  as  it  did  when  the  good 
saint  was  alive,  and,  in  despair  of  the  human  brotherhood, 
took  to  preaching  to  the  birds  and  the  fishes. 

Whoever  passed  beneath  this  old  arched  gateway,  thus 

saint-guarded,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord's  grace  ,  might 

have  seen  under  its  shadow,  sitting  opposite  to  a  stand  of 
golden  oranges,  the  little  Agnes. 


8  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

A  very  pretty  picture  was  she,  reader,  —  with  such  a  face 
as  you  sometimes  see  painted  in  those  wayside  shrines  of 
sunny  Italy,  where  the  lamp  burns  pale  at  evening,  and  gilly 
flower  and  cyclamen  are  renewed  with  every  morning. 

She  might  have  been  fifteen  or  thereabouts,  but  was  so 
small  of  stature  that  she  seemed  yet  a  child.  Her  black 
hair  was  parted  in  a  white  unbroken  seam  down  to  the  high 
forehead,  whose  serious  arch,  like  that  of  a  cathedral-door, 
spoke  of  thought  and  prayer.  Beneath  the  shadows  of  this 
brow  lay  brown,  translucent  eyes,  into  whose  thoughtful 
depths  one  might  look  as  pilgrims  gaze  into  the  waters  of 
some  saintly  well,  cool  and  pure  down  to  the  unblemished 
sand  at  the  bottom.  The  small  lips  had  a  gentle  compres 
sion,  which  indicated  a  repressed  strength  of  feeling ;  while 
the  straight  line  of  the  nose,  and  the  flexible,  delicate  nostril, 
were  perfect  as  in  those  sculptured  fragments  of  the  antique 
which  the  soil  of  Italy  so  often  gives  forth  to  the  day  from 
the  sepulchres  of  the  past.  The  habitual  pose  of  the  head 
and  face  had  the  shy  uplooking  grace  of  a  violet ;  and  yet 
there  was  a  grave  tranquillity  of  expression,  which  gave  a 
peculiar  degree  of  character  to  the  whole  figure. 

At  the  moment  at  which  we  have  called  your  attention, 
the  fair  head  is  bent,  the  long  eyelashes  lie  softly  down  on 
the  pale,  smooth  cheek ;  for  the  Ave  Maria  bell  is  sounding 
from  the  Cathedral  of  Sorrento,  and  the  child  is  busy  with 
her  beads. 

By  her  side  sits  a  woman  of  some  threescore  years,  tall, 
stately,  and  squarely  formed,  with  ample  breadth  of  back 
and  size  of  chest,  like  the  robust  dames  of  Sorrento.  Her 
strong  Roman  nose,  the  firm,  determined  outline  of  her 
mouth,  and  a  certain  energy  in  every  motion,  speak  the 
woman  of  will  and  purpose.  There  is  a  degree  of  vigor  in 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  9 

the  decision  with  which  she  lays  down  her  spindle  and  bows 
her  head,  as  a  good  Christian  of  those  days  would,  at  the 
swinging  of  the  evening  bell. 

But  while  the  soul  of  the  child  in  its  morning  freshness, 
free  from  pressure  or  conscience  of  earthly  care,  rose  like 
an  illuminated  mist  to  heaven,  the  words  the  white-haired 
woman  repeated  were  twined  with  threads  of  worldly  pru 
dence,  —  thoughts  of  how  many  oranges  she  had  sold,  with  a 
rough  guess  at  the  probable  amount  for  the  day,  —  and  her 
fingers  wandered  from  her  beads  a  moment  to  see  if  the 
last  coin  had  been  swept  from  the  stand  into  her  capacious 
pocket,  and  her  eyes  wandering  after  them  suddenly  made 
her  aware  of  the  fact  that  a  handsome  cavalier  was  standing 
in  the  gate,  regarding  her  pretty  grandchild  with  looks  of 
undisguised  admiration. 

"  Let  him  look  ! "  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  grim  clasp  on 
her  rosary ;  —  "a  fair  face  draws  buyers,  and  our  oranges 
must  be  turned  into  money ;  but  he  who  does  more  than 
look  has  an  affair  with  me ;  —  so  gaze  away,  my  master,  and 
take  it  out  in  buying  oranges !  —  Ave  Maria  !  ora  pro  nobis, 
nunc  et"  etc.,  etc. 

A  few  moments,  and  the  wave  of  prayer  which  had  flowed 
down  the  quaint  old  shadowy  street,  bowing  all  heads  as  the 
wind  bowed  the  scarlet  tassels  of  neighboring  clover-fields, 
was  passed,  and  all  the  world  resumed  the  work  of  earth 
just  where  they  left  off  when  the  bell  began. 

"  Good  even  to  you,  pretty  maiden ! "  said  the  cavalier, 
approaching  the  stall  of  the  orange-woman  with  the  easy, 
confident  air  of  one  secure  of  a  ready  welcome,  and  bending 
down  on  the  yet  prayerful  maiden  the  glances  of  a  pair  of 
piercing  hazel  eyes  that  looked  out  on  each  side  of  his  aqui 
line  nose  with  the  keenness  of  a  falcon's. 
I* 


10  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Good  even  to  you,  pretty  one  !  We  shall  take  you  for  a 
saint,  and  worship  you  in  right  earnest,  if  you  raise  not  those 
eyelashes  soon." 

"  Sir  !  my  lord  !  "  said  the  girl,  —  a  bright  color  flushing 
into  her  smooth  brown  cheeks,  and  her  large  dreamy  eyes 
suddenly  upraised  with  a  flutter,  as  of  a  bird  about  to  take 
flight. 

"Agnes,  bethink  yourself!"  said  the  white-haired  dame; 
—  "the  gentleman  asks  the  price  of  your  oranges;  —  be 
alive,  child!" 

"  Ah,  my  lord,"  said  the  young  girl,  "  here  are  a  dozen 
fine  ones." 

"Well,  you  shall  give  them  me,  pretty  one,"  said  the 
young  man,  throwing  a  gold  piece  down  on  the  stand  with  a 
careless  ring. 

"  Here,  Agnes,  run  to  the  stall  of  Raphael  the  poulterer 
for  change,"  said  the  adroit  dame,  picking  up  the  gold. 

"  Nay,  good  mother,  by  your  leave,"  said  the  unabashed 
cavalier  ;  "  I  make  my  change  with  youth  and  beauty  thus ! " 
And  with  the  word  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  fair  fore 
head  between  the  eyes. 

"  For  shame,  Sir ! "  said  the  elderly  woman,  raising  her 
distaff,  —  her  great  glittering  eyes  flashing  beneath  her 
silver  hair  like  tongues  of  lightning  from  a  white  cloud. 
"  Have  a  care !  —  this  child  is  named  for  blessed  Saint 
Agnes,  and  is  under  her  protection." 

"  The  saints  must  pray  for  us,  when  their  beauty  makes 
us  forget  ourselves,"  said  the  young  cavalier,  with  a  smile. 
"  Look  me  in  the  face,  little  one,"  he  added ;  —  "  say,  wilt 
thou  pray  for  me  ?  " 

The  maiden  raised  her  large  serious  eyes,  and  surveyed 
the  haughty,  handsome  face  with  that  look  of  sober  in- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  11 

quiry  which  one  sometimes  sees  in  young  children,  and  the 
blush  slowly  faded  from  her  cheek,  as  a  cloud  fades  after 
sunset. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  she  answered,  with  a  grave  simplicity,  — 
"  I  Witt  pray  for  you." 

"  And  hang  this  upon  the  shrine  of  Saint  Agnes  for  my 
sake,"  he  added,  drawing  from  his  finger  a  diamond  ring, 
which  he  dropped  into  her  hand;  and  before  mother  or 
daughter  could  add  another  word  or  recover  from  their  sur 
prise,  he  had  thrown  the  corner  of  his  mantle  over  his 
shoulder  and  was  off  down  the  narrow  street,  humming  the 
refrain  of  a  gay  song. 

"  You  have  struck  a  pretty  dove  with  that  bolt,"  said  an 
other  cavalier,  who  appeared  to  have  been  observing  the 
proceeding,  and  now,  stepping  forward,  joined  him. 

"Like  enough,"  said  the  first,  carelessly. 

"  The  old  woman  keeps  her  mewed  up  like  a  singing- 
bird,"  said  the  second ;  "  and  if  a  fellow  wants  speech 
of  her,  it's  as  much  as  his  crown  is  worth  ;  for  Dame 
Elsie  has  a  strong  arm,  and  her  distaff  is  known  to  be 
heavy." 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  the  first  cavalier,  stopping  and 
throwing  a  glance  backward,  — "  where  do  they  keep 
her?" 

"  Oh,  in  a  sort  of  pigeon's  nest  up  above  the  Gorge ; 
but  one  never  sees  her,  except  under  the  fire  of  her  grand 
mother's  eyes.  The  little  one  is  brought  up  for  a  saint,  they 
say,  and  goes  nowhere  but  to  mass,  confession,  and  the 
sacrament." 

"  Humph  ?  "  said  the  other,  "  she  looks  like  some  choice 
old  picture  of  Our  Lady,  —  not  a  drop  of  human  blood  in 
her.  When  I  kissed  her  forehead,  she  looked  into  my  face 


12  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

as  grave  and  innocent  as  a  babe.  One  is  tempted  to  try 
what  one  can  do  in  such  a  case." 

"  Beware  the  grandmother's  distaff ! "  said  the  other, 
laughing. 

"  I've  seen  old  women  before,"  said  the  cavalier,  as  they 
turned  down  the  street  and  were  lost  to  view. 

Meanwhile  the  grandmother  and  grand-daughter  were 
roused  from  the  mute  astonishment  in  which  they  were  gaz 
ing  after  the  young  cavalier  by  a  tittering  behind  them  ;  and 
a  pair  of  bright  eyes  looked  out  upon  them  from  be 
neath  a  bundle  of  long,  crimson-headed  clover,  whose  rich 
carmine  tints  were  touched  to  brighter  life  by  setting  sun 
beams. 

There  stood  Giulietta,  the  head  coquette  of  the  Sorrento 
girls,  with  her  broad  shoulders,  full  chest,  and  great  black 
eyes,  rich  and  heavy  as  those  of  the  silver-haired  ox  for 
whose  benefit  she  had  been  cutting  clover.  Her  bronzed 
cheek  was  smooth  as  that  of  any  statue,  and  showed  a  color 
like  that  of  an  open  pomegranate ;  and  the  opulent,  lazy 
abundance  of  her  ample  form,  with  her  leisurely  movements, 
spoke  an  easy  and  comfortable  nature,  —  that  is  to  say,  when 
Giulietta  was  pleased ;  for  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  there 
lurked  certain  sparkles  deep  down  in  her  great  eyes,  which 
might,  on  occasion,  blaze  out  into  sheet-lightning,  like  her 
own  beautiful  skies,  which,  lovely  as  they  are,  can  thunder 
and  sulk  with  terrible  earnestness  when  the  fit  takes  them. 
At  present,  however,  her  face  was  running  over  with  mis 
chievous  merriment,  as  she  slyly  pinched  little  Agnes  by 
the  ear. 

"  So  you  know  not  yon  gay  cavalier,  little  sister  ? " 
she  said,  looking  askance  at  her  from  under  her  long 
lashes. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  13 

"  No,  indeed  !  What  has  an  honest  girl  to  do  with  know 
ing  gay  cavaliers  ?"  said  Dame  Elsie,  bestirring  herself  with 
packing  the  remaining  oranges  into  a  basket,  which  she  cov 
ered  trimly  with  a  heavy  linen  towel  of  her  own  weaving. 
"  Girls  never  come  to  good  who  let  their  eyes  go  walking 
through  the  earth,  and  have  the  names  of  all  the  wild  gal 
lants  on  their  tongues.  Agnes  knows  no  such  nonsense,  — • 
blessed  be  her  gracious  patroness,  with  Our  Lady  and  Saint 
Michael ! " 

"  I  hope  there  is  no  harm  in  knowing  what  is  right  before 
one's  eyes,"  said  Giulietta.  "  Anybody  must  be  blind  and 
deaf  not  to  know  the  Lord  Adrian.  All  the  girls  in  Sor 
rento  know  him.  They  say  he  is  even  greater  than  he 
appears,  —  that  he  is  brother  to  the  King  himself;  at  any 
rate,  a  handsomer  and  more  gallant  gentleman  never  wore 
spurs."  . 

"  Let  him  keep  to  his  own  kind,"  said  Elsie.  "  Eagles 
make  bad  work  in  dove-cots.  No  good  comes  of  such  gal 
lants  for  us." 

"Nor  any  harm,  that  I  ever  heard  of/'  said  Giulietta. 
"  But  let  me  see,  pretty  one,  —  what  did  he  give  you  ?  Ho 
ly  Mother !  what  a  handsome  ring !  " 

"It  is  to  hang  on  the  shrine  of  Saint  Agnes,"  said  the 
younger  girl,  looking  up  with  simplicity. 

A  loud  laugh  was  the  first  answer  to  this  communication. 
The  scarlet  clover-tops  shook  and  quivered  with  the  merri 
ment. 

"  To  hang  on  the  shrine  of  Saint  Agnes !  "  Giulietta  re 
peated.  "That  is  a  little  too  good!" 

"  Go,  go,  you  baggage  ! "  said  Elsie,  wrathfully  brandish 
ing  her  spindle.  "  If  ever  you  get  a  husband,  I  hope  he'll 
give  you  a  good  beating  !  You  need  it,  I  warrant !  Always 


14  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

stopping  on  the  bridge  there,  to  have  cracks  with  the  young 
men !  Little  enough  you  know  of  saints,  I  dare  say  !  So 
keep  away  from  my  child !  —  Come,  Agnes,"  she  said,  as  she 
lifted  the  orange-basket  on  to  her  head ;  and,  straightening 
her  tall  form,  she  seized  the  girl  by  the  hand  to  lead  her 
away. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  15 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    DOVE-COT. 

THE  old  town  of  Sorrento  is  situated  on  an  elevated  pla 
teau,  which  stretches  into  the  sunny  waters  of  the  Mediter 
ranean,  guarded  on  all  sides  by  a  barrier  of  mountains  which 
defend  it  from  bleak  winds  and  serve  to  it  the  purpose  of 
walls  to  a  garden.  Here,  groves  of  oranges  and  lemons, 
with  their  almost  fabulous  coincidence  of  fruitage  with  flow 
ers,  fill  the  air  with  perfume,  which  blends  with  that  of 
roses  and  jessamines  ;  and  the  fields  are  so  starred  and 
enamelled  with  flowers  that  they  might  have  served  as  the 
type  for  those  Elysian  realms  sung  by  ancient  poets.  The 
fervid  air  is  fanned  by  continual  sea-breezes,  which  give  a 
delightful  elasticity  to  the  otherwise  languid  climate.  Under 
all  these  cherishing  influences,  the  human  being  develops  a 
wealth  and  luxuriance  of  physical  beauty  unknown  in  less 
favored  regions.  In  the  region  about  Sorrento  one  may  be 
said  to  have  found  the  land  where  beauty  is  the  rule  and  not 
the  exception.  The  singularity  there  is  not  to  see  handsome 
points  of  physical  proportion,  but  rather  to  see  those  who 
are  without  them.  Scarce  a  man,  woman,  or  child  you  meet 
who  has  not  some  personal  advantage  to  be  commended, 
while  even  striking  beauty  is  common.  Also,  under  these 
kindly  skies,  a  native  courtesy  and  gentleness  of  manner 
make  themselves  felt.  It  would  seem  as  if  humanity,  rocked 
in  this  flowery  cradle,  and  soothed  by  so  many  daily  caresses 
and  appliances  of  nursing  Nature,  grew  up  with  all  that  is 
kindliest  on  the  outward,  —  not  repressed  and  beat  in,  as 


16  AGNES  OF  SOKRENTO. 

under  the  inclement  atmosphere  and  stormy  skies  of  the 
North. 

The  -town  of  Sorrento  itself  overhangs  the  sea,  skirting 
along  rocky  shores,  which,  hollowed  here  and  there  into 
picturesque  grottoes,  and  fledged  with  a  wild  plumage  of 
brilliant  flowers  and  trailing  vines,  descend  in  steep  preci 
pices  to  the  water.  Along  the  shelly  beach,  at  the  bottom, 
one  can  wander  to  look  out  on  the  loveliest  prospect  in  the 
world.  Vesuvius  rises  with  its  two  peaks  softly  clouded  in 
blue  and  purple  mists,  which  blend  with  its  ascending  va 
pors,  —  Naples  and  the  adjoining  villages  at  its  base  gleam 
ing  in  the  distance  like  a  fringe  of  pearls  on  a  regal  mantle. 
Nearer  by,  the  picturesque  rocky  shores  of  the  island  of 
Capri  seem  to  pulsate  through  the  dreamy,  shifting  mists 
that  veil  its  sides ;  and  the  sea  shimmers  and  glitters  like 
the  neck  of  a  peacock  with  an  iridescent  mingling  of  colors : 
the  whole  air  is  a  glorifying  medium,  rich  in  prismatic  hues 
of  enchantment. 

The  town  on  three  sides  is  severed  from  the  main  land 
by  a  gorge  two  hundred  feet  in  depth  and  forty  or  fifty  in 
breadth,  crossed  by  a  bridge  resting  on  double  arches,  the 
construction  of  which  dates  back  to  the  time  of  the  ancient 
Romans.  This  bridge  affords  a  favorite  lounging-place  for 
the  inhabitants,  and  at  evening  a  motley  assemblage  may  be 
seen  lolling  over  its  moss-grown  sides,  —  men  with  their  pic 
turesque  knit  caps  of  scarlet  or  brown  falling  gracefully  on 
one  shoulder,  and  women  with  their  shining  black  hair  and 
the  enormous  pearl  ear-rings  which  are  the  pride  and  heir 
looms  of  every  family.  The  present  traveller  at  Sorrento 
may  remember  standing  on  this  bridge  and  looking  down  the 
gloomy  depths  of  the  gorge,  to  where  a  fair  villa,  with  its 
groves  of  orange-trees  and  gardens,  overhangs  the  tremen 
dous  depths  below. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  17 

Hundreds  of  years  since,  where  this'villa  now  stands  was 
the  simple  dwelling  of  the  two  women  whose  history  we  have 
begun  to  tell  you.  There  you  might  have  seen  a  small  stone 
cottage  with  a  two-arched  arcade  in  front,  gleaming  brill 
iantly  white  out  of  the  dusky  foliage  of  an  orange-orchard. 
The  dwelling  was  wedged  like  a  bird-box  between  two 
fragments  of  rock,  and  behind  it  the  land  rose  rocky,  high, 
and  steep,  so  as  to  form  a  natural  wall.  A  small  ledge  or 
terrace  of  cultivated  land  here  hung  in  air,  —  below  it,  a 
precipice  of  two  hundred  feet  down  into  the  Gorge  of  Sor 
rento.  A  couple  of  dozen  orange-trees,  straight  and  tall, 
with  healthy,  shining  bark,  here  shot  up  from  the  fine  black 
volcanic  soil,  and  made  with  their  foliage  a  twilight  shadow 
on  the  ground,  so  deep  that  no  vegetation,  save  a  fine  vel 
vet  moss,  could  dispute  their  claim  to  its  entire  nutritious 
offices.  These  trees  were  the  sole  wealth  of  the  women  and 
the  sole  ornament  of  the  garden ;  but,  as  they  stood  there, 
not  only  laden  with  golden  fruit,  but  fragrant  with  pearly 
blossoms,  they  made  the  little  rocky  platform  seem  a  perfect 
Garden  of  the  Hesperides.  The  stone  cottage,  as  we  have 
said,  had  an  open,  whitewashed  arcade  in  front,  from  which 
one  could  look  down  into  the  gloomy  depths  of  the  gorge,  as 
into  some  mysterious  underworld.  Strange  and  weird  it 
seemed,  with  its  fathomless  shadows  and  its  wild  grottoes, 
over  which  hung,  silently  waving,  long  pendants  of  ivy,  while 
dusky  gray  aloes  uplifted  their  horned  heads  from  great 
rock-rifts,  like  elfin  spirits  struggling  upward  out  of  the 
shade.  Nor  was  wanting  the  usual  gentle  poetry  of  flowers  ; 
for  white  iris  leaned  its  fairy  pavilion  over  the  black  void 
like  a  pale-cheeked  princess  from  the  window  of  some  dark 
enchanted  castle,  and  scarlet  geranium  and  golden  broom  and 
crimson  gladiolus  waved  and  glowed  in  the  shifting  beams  of 


18  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

the  sunlight.  Also  there  was  in  this  little  spot  what  forms 
the  charm  of  Italian  gardens  always,  —  the  sweet  song  and 
prattle  of  waters.  A  clear  mountain-spring  burst  through 
the  rock  on  one  side  of  the  little  cottage,  and  fell  with  a 
lulling  noise  into  a  quaint  moss-grown  water-trough,  which 
had  been  in  former  times  the  sarcophagus  of  some  old 
Roman  sepulchre.  Its  sides  were  richly  sculptured  with 
figures  and  leafy  scrolls  and  arabesques,  into  which  the  sly- 
footed  lichens  with  quiet  growth  had  so  insinuated  them 
selves  as  in  some  places  almost  to  obliterate  the  original 
design  ;  while,  round  the  place  where  the  water  fell,  a  veil 
of  ferns  and  maiden's  hair,  studded  with  tremulous  silver 
drops,  vibrated  to  its  soothing  murmur.  The  superfluous 
waters,  drained  off  by  a  little  channel  on  one  side,  were 
conducted  through  the  rocky  parapet  of  the  garden,  whence 
they  trickled  and  tinkled  from  rock  to  rock,  falling  with  a 
continual  drip  among  the  swaying  ferns  and  pendent  ivy- 
wreaths,  till  they  reached  the  little  stream  at  the  bottom 
of  the  gorge.  This  parapet  or  garden-wall  was  formed  of 
blocks  or  fragments  of  what  had  once  been  white  marble, 
the  probable  remains  of  the  ancient  tomb  from  which  the 
sarcophagus  was  taken.  Here  and  there  a  marble  acanthus- 
leaf,  or  the  capital  of  an  old  column,  or  a  fragment  of  sculp 
ture  jutted  from  under  the  mosses,  ferns,  and  grasses  with 
which  prodigal  Nature  had  filled  every  interstice  and  car 
peted  the  whole.  These  sculptured  fragments  everywhere 
in  Italy  seem  to  whisper  from  the  dust,  of  past  life  and  death, 
of  a  cycle  of  human  existence  forever  gone,  over  whose  tomb 
the  life  of  to-day  is  built. 

"  Sit  down  and  rest,  my  dove,"  said  Dame  Elsie  to  her 
little  charge,  as  they  entered  their  little  enclosure. 

Here  she  saw  for  the  first  time,  what  she  had  not  noticed 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  19 

in  the  heat  and  hurry  of  her  ascent,  that  the  girl  was  pant 
ing  and  her  gentle  bosom  rising  and  falling  in  thick  heart 
beats,  occasioned  by  the  haste  with  which  she  had  drawn 
her  onward. 

"  Sit  down,  dearie,  and  I  will  get  you  a  bit  of  supper." 

"  Yes,  grandmother,  I  will.  I  must  tell  my  beads  once 
for  the  soul  of  the  handsome  gentleman  that  kissed  my  fore 
head  to-night." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  he  was  handsome,  child  ?  "  said 
the  old  dame,  with  some  sharpness  in  her  voice. 

"  He  bade  me  look  on  him,  grandmother,  and  I  saw  it." 

"  You  must  put  such  thoughts  away,  child,"  said  the  old 
dame. 

"  Why  must  I  ?  "  said  the  girl,  looking  up  with  an  eye  as 
clear  and  unconscious  as  that  of  a  three-year  old  child. 

"  If  she  does  not  think,  why  should  I  tell  her  ? "  said 
Dame  Elsie,  as  she  turned  to  go  into  the  house,  and  left  the 
child  sitting  on  the  mossy  parapet  that  overlooked  the  gorge. 
Thence  she  could  see  far  off,  not  only  down  the  dim,  sombre 
abyss,  but  out  to  the  blue  Mediterranean  beyond,  now  calmly 
lying  in  swathing-bands  of  purple,  gold,  and  orange,  while 
the  smoky  cloud  that  overhung  Vesuvius  became  silver  and 
rose  in  the  evening  light. 

There  is  always  something  of  elevation  and  purity  that 
seems  to  come  over  one  from  being  in  an  elevated  region. 
One  feels  morally  as  well  as  physically  above  the  world,  and 
from  that  clearer  air  able  to  look  down  on  it  calmly  with 
disengaged  freedom.  Our  little  maiden  sat  for  a  few  mo 
ments  gazing,  her  large  brown  eyes  dilating  with  a  tremu 
lous  lustre,  as  if  tears  were  half  of  a  mind  to  start  in  them, 
and  her  lips  apart  with  a  delicate  earnestness,  like  one  who 
is  pursuing  some  pleasing  inner  thought.  Suddenly  rousing 


20  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

herself,  she  began  by  breaking  the  freshest  orange-blossoms 
from  the  golden-fruited  trees,  and,  kissing  and  pressing  them 
to  her  bosom,  she  proceeded  to  remove  the  faded  flowers  of 
the  morning  from  before  a  little  rude  shrine  in  the  rock, 
where,  in  a  sculptured  niche,  was  a  picture  of  the  Madonna 
and  Child,  with  a  locked  glass  door  in  front  of  it.  The  pic 
ture  was  a  happy  transcript  of  one  of  the  fairest  creations 
of  the  religious  school  of  Florence,  done  by  one  of  those 
rustic  copyists  of  whom  Italy  is  full,  who  appear  to  possess 
the  instinct  of  painting,  and  to  whom  we  owe  many  of  those 
sweet  faces  which  sometimes  look  down  on  us  by  the  way 
side  from  rudest  and  homeliest  shrines. 

The  poor  fellow  by  whom  it  had  been  painted  was  one  to 
whom  years  before  Dame  Elsie  had  given  food  and  shelter 
for  many  months  during  a  lingering  illness;  and  he  had 
painted  so  much  of  his  dying  heart  and  hopes  into  it  that  it 
had  a  peculiar  and  vital  vividness  in  its  power  of  affecting 
the  feelings.  Agnes  had  been  familiar  with  this  picture 
from  early  infancy.  No  day  of  her  life  had  the  flowers 
failed  to  be  freshly  placed  before  it.  It  had  seemed  to  smile 
down  sympathy  on  her  childish  joys,  and  to  cloud  over  with 
her  childish  sorrows.  It  was  less  a  picture  to  her  than  a 
presence ;  and  the  whole  air  of  the  little  orange-garden 
seemed  to  be  made  sacred  by  it.  When  she  had  arranged 
her  flowers,  she  kneeled  down  and  began  to  say  prayers  for 
the  soul  of  the  young  gallant. 

"  Holy  Jesus,"  she  said,  "he  is  young,  rich,  handsome,  and 
a  king's  brother ;  and  for  all  these  things  the  Fiend  may 
tempt  him  to  forget  his  God  and  throw  away  his  soul.  Holy 
Mother,  give  him  good  counsel ! " 

"  Come,  child,  to  your  supper,"  said  Dame  Elsie.  "  I 
have  milked  the  goats,  and  everything  is  ready." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  21 


CHAPTER  in. 

THE    GORGE. 

AFTER  her  light  supper  was  over,  Agnes  took  her  distaff, 
wound  with  shining  white  flax,  and  went  and  seated  herself 
in  her  favorite  place,  on  the  low  parapet  that  overlooked 
the  gorge. 

This  ravine,  with  its  dizzy  depths,  its  waving  foliage,  its 
dripping  springs,  and  the  low  murmur  of  the  little  stream 
that  pursued  its  way  far  down  at  the  bottom,  was  one  of 
those  things  which  stimulated  her  impressible  imagination, 
and  filled  her  with  a  solemn  and  vague  delight.  The  an 
cient  Italian  tradition  made  it  the  home  of  fauns  and  dry 
ads,  wild  woodland  creatures,  intermediate  links  between 
vegetable  life  and  that  of  sentient  and  reasoning  human 
ity.  The  more  earnest  faith  that  came  in  with  Christian 
ity,  if  it  had  its  brighter  lights  in  an  immortality  of 
blessedness,  had  also  its  deeper  shadows  in  the  intenser 
perceptions  it  awakened  of  sin  and  evil,  and  of  the  mortal 
struggle  by  which  the  human  spirit  must  avoid  endless  woe 
and  rise  to  endless  felicity.  The  myths  with  which  the 
colored  Italian  air  was  filled  in  mediaeval  ages  no  longer 
resembled  those  graceful,  floating,  cloud-like  figures  one 
sees  in  the  ancient  chambers  of  Pompeii,  —  the  bubbles 
and  rainbows  of  human  fancy,  rising  aimless  and  buoyant, 
with  a  mere  freshness  of  animal  life,  against  a  black  back 
ground  of  utter  and  hopeless  ignorance  as  to  man's  past 
or  future.  They  were  rather  expressed  by  solemn  images 


22  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

of  mournful,  majestic  angels  and  of  triumphant  saints,  or 
fearful,  warning  presentations  of  loathsome  fiends.  Each 
lonesome  gorge  and  sombre  dell  had  tales  no  more  of 
tricky  fauns  and  dryads,  but  of  those  restless,  wandering 
demons  who,  having  lost  their  own  immortality  of  blessed 
ness,  constantly  lie  in  wait  to  betray  frail  humanity,  and 
cheat  it  of  that  glorious  inheritance  bought  by  the  Great 
Redemption. 

The  education  of  Agnes  had  been  one  which  rendered 
her  whole  system  peculiarly  sensitive  and  impressible  to 
all  influences  from  the  invisible  and  unseen.  Of  this  ed 
ucation  we  shall  speak  more  particularly  hereafter.  At 
present  we  see  her  sitting  in  the  twilight  on  the  moss- 
grown  marble  parapet,  her  distaff,  with  its  silvery  flax, 
lying  idly  in  her  hands,  and  her  widening  dark  eyes  gaz 
ing  intently  into  the  gloomy  gorge  below,  from  which  arose 
the  far-off  complaining  babble  of  the  brook  at  the  bottom 
and  the  shiver  and  sigh  of  evening  winds  through  the 
trailing  ivy.  The  white  mist  was  slowly  rising,  wavering, 
undulating,  and  creeping  its  slow  way  up  the  sides  of  the 
gorge.  Now  it  hid  a  tuft  of  foliage,  and  now  it  wreathed 
itself  around  a  horned  clump  of  aloes,  and,  streaming  far 
down  below  it  in  the  dimness,  made  it  seem  like  the  goblin 
robe  of  some  strange,  supernatural  being. 

The  evening  light  had  almost  burned  out  in  the  sky : 
only  a  band  of  vivid  red  lay  low  in  the  horizon  out  to  sea, 
and  the  round  full  moon  was  just  rising  like  a  great  silver 
lamp,  while  Vesuvius  with  its  smoky  top  began  in  the  ob 
scurity  to  show  its  faintly  flickering  fires.  A  vague  agita 
tion  seemed  to  oppress  the  child  ;  for  she  sighed  deeply,  and 
often  repeated  with  fervor  the  Ave  Maria. 

At  this  moment  there  began  to  rise  from  the  very  depths 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  23 

of  the  gorge  below  her  the  sound  of  a  rich  tenor  voice, 
with  a  slow,  sad  modulation,  and  seeming  to  pulsate  upward 
through  the  filmy,  shifting  mists.  It  was  one  of  those  voices 
which  seem  fit  to  be  the  outpouring  of  some  spirit  denied  all 
other  gifts  of  expression,  and  rushing  with  passionate  fervor 
through  this  one  gate  of  utterance.  So  distinctly  were  the 
words  spoken,  that  they  seemed  each  one  to  rise  as  with  a 
separate  intelligence  out  of  the  mist,  and  to  knock  at  the 
door  of  the  heart. 

Sad  is  my  life,  and  lonely ! 

No  hope  for  me, 
Save  thou,  my  love,  my  only, 
I  see! 

Where  art  thou,  0  my  fairest  ? 

Where  art  thou  gone  ? 
Dove  of  the  rock,  I  languish 
Alone ! 

They  say  thou  art  so  saintly, 

Who  dare  love  thee? 
Yet  bend  thine  eyelids  holy 
On  me ! 

Though  heaven  alone  possess  thee, 

Thou,  dwell' st  above, 
Yet  heaven,  didst  thou  but  know  it, 
Is  love. 

There  was  such  an  intense  earnestness  in  these  sounds, 
that  large  tears  gathered  in  the  wide  dark  eyes,  and  fell  one 
after  another  upon  the  sweet  alyssum  and  maiden's-hair  that 
grew  in  the  crevices  of  the  marble  wall.  She  shivered  and 
drew  away  from  the  parapet,  and  thought  of  stories  she  had 
heard  the  nuns  tell  of  wandering  spirits  who  sometimes  in 
lonesome  places  pour  forth  such  entrancing  music  as  bewil 
ders  the  brain  of  the  unwary  listener,  and  leads  him  to 
some  fearful  destruction. 


24  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Agnes  ! "  said  the  sharp  voice  of  old  Elsie,  appearing  at 
the  door,  —  "  here  !  where  are  you  !  " 

"  Here,  grandmamma." 

"  Who  's  that  singing  this  time  o'  night  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  grandmamma." 

Somehow  the  child  felt  as  if  that  singing  were  strangely 
sacred  to  her,  —  a  rapport  between  her  and  something 
vague  and  invisible  which  might  yet  become  dear. 

"  Is  't  down  in  the  gorge  ?  "  said  the  old  woman,  coming 
with  her  heavy,  decided  step  to  the  parapet,  and  looking 
over,  her  keen  black  eyes  gleaming  like  dagger-blades  into 
the  mist.  "  If  there  's  anybody  there,"  she  said,  "  let  them 
go  away,  and  not  be  troubling  honest  women  with  any  of 
their  caterwauling.  Come,  Agnes,"  she  said,  pulling  the 
girl  by  the  sleeve,  "  you  must  be  tired,  my  lamb  !  and  your 
evening-prayers  are  always  so  long,  best  be  about  them,  girl, 
so  that  old  grandmamma  may  put  you  to  bed.  What  ails 
the  girl  ?  Been  crying  !  Your  hand  is  cold  as  a  stone." 

"  Grandmamma,  what  if  that  might  be  a  spirit  ? "  she 
said.  "  Sister  Rosa  told  me  stories  of  singing  spirits  that 
have  been  in  this  very  gorge." 

"  Likely  enough,"  said  Dame  Elsie  ;  "  but  what 's  that  to 
us  ?  Let  'em  sing !  —  so  long  as  we  don't  listen,  where  's 
the  harm  done?  We  will  sprinkle  holy  water  all  round 
the  parapet,  and  say  the  office  of  Saint  Agnes,  and  let  them 
sing  till  they  are  hoarse." 

Such  was  the  triumphant  view  which  this  energetic  good 
woman  took  of  the  power  of  the  means  of  grace  which  her 
church  placed  at  her  disposal. 

Nevertheless,  while  Agnes  was  kneeling  at  her  evening- 
prayers,  the  old  dame  consoled  herself  with  a  soliloquy,  as 
with  a  brush  she  vigorously  besprinkled  the  premises  with 
holy  water.  • 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  25 

"  Now,  here  's  the  plague  of  a  girl !  If  she  's  handsome, 
—  and  nobody  wants  one  that  is  n't,  —  why,  then,  it 's  a 
purgatory  to  look  after  her.  This  one  is  good  enough,  — 
none  of  your  hussies,  like  Giulietta :  but  the  better  they 
are,  the  more  sure  to  have  fellows  after  them.  A  mur 
rain  on  that  cavalier,  —  king's  brother,  or  what  not !  —  it 
was  he  serenading,  I  '11  be  bound.  I  must  tell  Antonio,  and 
have  the  girl  married,  for  aught  I  see :  and  I  don't  want  to 
give  her  to  him  either ;  he  did  n't  bring  her  up.  There  's 
no  peace  for  us  mofhers.  Maybe  I  '11  tell  Father  Francesco 
about  it.  That 's  the  way  poor  little  Isella  was  carried 
away.  Singing  is  of  the  Devil,  I  believe ;  it  always  be 
witches  girls.  I  'd  like  to  have  poured  some  hot  oil  down 
the  rocks :  I  'd  have  made  him  squeak  in  another  tone,  I 
reckon.  Well,  well !  I  hope  I  shall  come  in  for  a  good  seat 
in  paradise  for  all  the  trouble  I  've  had  with  her  mother,  and 
am  like  to  have  with  her,  —  that 's  all ! " 

In  an  hour  more,  the  large,  round,  sober  moon  was  shin 
ing  fixedly  on  the  little  mansion  in  the  rocks,  silvering  the 
glossy  darkness  of  the  orange-leaves,  while  the  scent  of  the 
blossoms  arose  like  clouds  about  the  cottage.  The  moon 
light  streamed  through  the  unglazed  casement,  and  made  a 
square  of  light  on  the  little  bed  where  Agnes  was  sleeping, 
in  which  square  her  delicate  face  was  framed,  with  its  trem 
ulous  and  spiritual  expression  most  resembling  in  its  sweet 
plaintive  purity  some  of  the  Madonna  faces  of  Fra  An- 
gelico,  —  those  tender  wild-flowers  of  Italian  religion  and 
poetry. 

By  her  side  lay  her  grandmother,  with  those  sharp,  hard, 

clearly  cut  features,  so  worn  and  bronzed  by  time,  so  lined 

with  labor  and  care,  as  to  resemble  one  of  the  Fates  in  the 

picture  of  Michel  Angelo ;  and  even  in  her  sleep  she  held 

2 


26  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

the  delicate  lily  hand  of  the  child  in  her  own  hard,  brown 
one,  with  a  strong  and  determined  clasp. 

While  they  sleep,  we  must  tell  something  more  of  the  story 
of  the  little  Agnes,  —  of  what  she  is,  and  what  are  the  causes 
which  have  made  her  such. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  27 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHO    AND    WHAT. 

% 

OLD  Elsie  was  not  born  a  peasant.  Originally  she  was 
the  wife  of  a  steward  in  one  of  those  great  families  of 
Rome  whose  state  and  traditions  were  princely.  Elsie,  as 
her  figure  and  profile  and  all  her  words  and  movements 
indicated,  was  of  a  strong,  shrewd,  ambitious,  and  courageous 
character,  and  well  disposed  to  turn  to  advantage  every  gift 
with  which  Nature  had  endowed  her. 

Providence  made  her  a  present  of  a  daughter  whose 
beauty  was  wonderful,  even  in  a  country  where  beauty  is 
no  uncommon  accident.  In  addition  to  her  beauty,  the  little 
Isella  had  quick  intelligence,  wit,  grace,  and  spirit.  As  a 
child  she  became  the  pet  and  plaything  of  the  Princess 
whom  Elsie  served.  This  noble  lady,  pressed  by  the  ennui 
which  is  always  the  moth  and  rust  on  the  purple  and  gold 
of  rank  and  wealth,  had,  as  other  noble  ladies  had  in  those 
days,  and  have  now,  sundry  pets :  greyhounds,  white  and 
delicate,  that  looked  as  if  they  were  made  of  Sevres  china ; 
spaniels  with  long  silky  ears  and  fringy  paws ;  apes  and 
monkeys,  that  made  at  times  sad  devastations  in  her  ward 
robe  ;  and  a  most  charming  little  dwarf,  that  was  ugly 
enough  to  frighten  the  very  owls,  and  spiteful  as  he  was 
ugly.  She  had,  moreover,  peacocks,  and  macaws,  and  par 
rots,  and  all  sorts  of  singing-birds,  and  falcons  of  every 
breed,  and  horses,  and  hounds,  —  in  short,  there  is  no  say 
ing  what  she  did  not  have.  One  day  she  took  it  into  her 


28  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

head  to  add  the  little  Isella  to  the  number  of  her  acquisi 
tions.  With  the-  easy  grace  of  aristocracy,  she  reached  out 
her  jewelled  hand  and  took  Elsie's  one  flower  to  add  to 
her  conservatory,  —  and  Elsie  was  only  too  proud  to  have 
it  so. 

Her  daughter  was  kept  constantly  about  the  person  of  the 
Princess,  and  instructed  in  all  the  wisdom  which  would  have 

* 

been  allowed  her,  had  she  been  the  Princess's  own  daughter, 
which,  to  speak  the  truth,  was  in  those  days  nothing  very 
profound,  —  consisting  of  a  little  singing  and  instrumenta 
tion,  a  little  embroidery  and  dancing,  with  the  power  of 
writing  her  own  name  and  of  reading  a  love-letter. 

All  the  world  knows  that  the  very  idea  of  a  pet  is  some 
thing  to  be  spoiled  for  the  amusement  of  the  pet-owner;  and 
Isella  was  spoiled  in  the  most  particular  and  circumstantial 
manner.  She  had  suits  of  apparel  for  every  day  in  the  year, 
and  jewels  without  end,  —  for  the  Princess  was  never  weary 
of  trying  the  effect  of  her  beauty  in  this  and  that  costume ; 
so  that  she  sported  through  the  great  grand  halls  and  down 
the  long  aisles  of  the  garden  much  like  a  bright-winged 
humming-bird,  or  a  damsel-fly  all  green  and  gold.  She  was 
a  genuine  child  of  Italy,  —  full  of  feeling,  spirit,  and  genius, 
—  alive  in  every  nerve  to  the  finger-tips  ;  and  under  the 
tropical  sunshine  of  her  mistress's  favor  she  grew  as  an 
Italian  rose-bush  does,  throwing  its  branches  freakishly  over 
everything  in  a  wild  labyrinth  of  perfume,  brightness,  and 
thorns. 

For  a  while  her  life  was  a  triumph,  and  her  mother  tri 
umphed  with  her  at  an  humble  distance.  The  Princess  was 
devoted  to  her  with  the  blind  fatuity  with  which  ladies  of 
rank  at  times  will  invest  themselves  in  a  caprice.  She  ar 
rogated  to  herself  all  the  praises  of  her  beauty  and  wit,  al- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  29 

lowed  her  to  flirt  and  make  conquests  to  her  heart's  content, 
and  engaged  to  many  her  to  some  handsome  young  officer 
of  her  train,  when  she  had  done  being  amused  with  her. 

Now  we  must  not  wonder  that  a  young  head  of  fifteen 
should  have  been  turned  by  this  giddy  elevation,  nor  that 
an  old  head  of  fifty  should  have  thought  all  things  were  pos 
sible  in  the  fortune  of  such  a  favorite.  Nor  must  we  wonder 
that  the  young  coquette,  rich  in  the  laurels  of  a  hundred 
conquests,  should  have  turned  her  bright  eyes  on  the  son 
and  heir,  when  he  came  home  from  the  University  of  Bo 
logna.  Nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  this  same  son  and 
heir,  being  a  man  as  well  as  a  Prince,  should  have  done  as 
other  men  did,  —  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  this  dazzling, 
sparkling,  piquant  mixture  of  matter  and  spirit,  which  no 
university  can  prepare  a  young  man  to  comprehend, —  which 
always  seemed  to  run  from  him,  and  yet  always  threw  a 
Parthian  shot  behind  her  as  she  fled.  Nor  is  it  to  be  won 
dered  at,  if  this  same  prince,  after  a  week  or  two,  did  not 
know  whether  he  was  on  his  head  or  his  heels,  or  whether 
the  sun  rose  in  the  east  or  the  south,  or  where  he  stood,  or 
whither  he  was  going. 

In  fact,  the  youthful  pair  very  soon  came  into  that  dream 
land  where  are  no  more  any  points  of  the  compass,  no  more 
division  of  time,  no  more  latitude  and  longitude,  no  more  up 
and  down,  but  only  a  general  wandering  among  enchanted 
groves  and  singing  nightingales. 

It  was  entirely  owing  to  old  Elsie's  watchful  shrewdness 
and  address  that  the  lovers  came  into  this  paradise  by  the 
gate  of  marriage ;  for  the  young  man  was  ready  to  offer 
anything  at  the  feet  of  his  divinity,  as  the  old  mother  was 
not  slow  to  perceive. 

So  they  stood  at  the  altar  for  the  time  being  a  pair  of  as 


SO  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

true  lovers  as  Romeo  and  Juliet :  but  then,  what  has  true 
love  to  do  with  the  son  of  a  hundred  generations  and  heir  to 
.a  Roman  principality  ? 

Of  course,  the  rose  of  love,  having  gone  through  all  its 
stages  of  bud  and  blossom  into  full  flower,  must  next  begin 
to  drop  its  leaves.  Of  course.  Who  ever  heard  of  an  im 
mortal  rose  ? 

The  time  of  discovery  came.  Isella  was  found  to  be  a 
mother;  and  then  the  storm  burst  upon  her  and  drabbled 
her  in  the  dust  as  fearlessly  as  the  summer-wind  sweeps 
down  and  besmirches  the  lily  it  has  all  summer  been  woo 
ing  and  flattering. 

The  Princess  was  a  very  pious  and  moral  lady,  and  of 
course  threw  her  favorite  out  into  the  street  as  a  vile  weed, 
and  virtuously  ground  her  down  under  her  jewelled  high- 
heeled  shoes. 

She  could  have  forgiven  her  any  common  frailty ;  —  of 
course  it  was  natural  that  the  girl  should  have  been  seduced 
by  the  all-conquering  charms  of  her  son ;  —  but  aspire  to 
marriage  with  their  house  !  —  pretend  to  be  her  son's  wife  ! 
Since  the  time  of  Judas  had  such  treachery  ever  been  heard 
of? 

Something  was  said  of  the  propriety  of  walling  up  the 
culprit  alive,  —  a  mode  of  disposing  of  small  family-matters 
somewhat  a  la  mode  in  those  times.  But  the  Princess  ac 
knowledged  herself  foolishly  tender,  and  unable  quite  to 
allow  this  very  obvious  propriety  in  the  case. 

She  contented  herself  with  turning  mother  and  daughter 
into  the  streets  with  every  mark  of  ignominy,  which  was 
reduplicated  by  every  one  of  her  servants,  lackeys,  and  court- 
companions,  who,  of  course,  had  always  known  just  how  the 
thing  must  end. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  31 

As  to  the  young  Prince  he  acted  as  a  well-instructed 
young  nobleman  should,  who  understands  the  great  differ 
ence  there  is  between  the  tears  of  a  duchess  and  those  of 
low-born  women.  No  sooner  did  he  behold  his  conduct  in 
the  light  of  his  mother's  countenance  than  he  turned  his 
back  on  his  low  marriage  with  edifying  penitence.  He  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  convince  his  mother  of  the  real 
existence  of  a  union  whose  very  supposition  made  her  so 
unhappy,  and  occasioned  such  an  uncommonly  disagreeable 
and  tempestuous  state  of  things  in  the  well-bred  circle  where 
his  birth  called  him  to  move.  Being,  however,  a  religious 
youth,  he  opened  his  mind  to  his  family-confessor,  by  whose 
advice  he  sent  a  messenger  with  a  large  sum  of  money  to 
Elsie,  piously  commending  her  and  her  daughter  to  the 
Divine  protection.  He  also  gave  orders  for  an  entire  new 
suit  of  raiment  for  the  Virgin  Mary  in  the  family -chapel, 
including  a  splendid  set  of  diamonds,  and  promised  unlimited 
candles  to  the  altar  of  a  neighboring  convent.  If  all  this 
could  not  atone  for  a  youthful  error,  it  was  a  pity.  So  he 
thought,  as  he  drew  on  his  riding-gloves  and  went  off  on 
a  hunting-party,  like  a  gallant  and  religious  young  noble 
man. 

Elsie,  meanwhile,  with  her  forlorn  and  disgraced  daughter, 
found  a  temporary  asylum  in  a  neighboring  mountain-village, 
where  the  poor,  bedrabbled,  broken-winged  song-bird  soon 
panted  and  fluttered  her  little  life  away. 

When  the  once  beautiful  and  gay  Isella  had  been  hidden 
in  the  grave,  cold  and  lonely,  there  remained  a  little  wailing 
infant,  which  Elsie  gathered  to  her -bosom. 

Grim,  dauntless,  and  resolute,  she  resolved,  for  the  sake 
of  this  hapless  one,  to  look  life  in  the  face  once  more,  and 
try  the  battle  under  other  skies. 


32  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

Taking  the  infant  in  her  arms,  she  travelled  with  her  far 
from  the  scene  of  her  birth,  and  set  all  her  energies  at  work 
to  make  for  her  a  better  destiny  than  that  which  had  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  her  unfortunate  mother. 

She  set  about  to  create  her  nature  and  order  her  fortunes 
with  that  sort  of  downright  energy  with  which  resolute  peo 
ple  always  attack  the  problem  of  a  new  human  existence. 
This  child  -should  be  happy ;  the  rocks  on  which  her  mother 
was  wrecked  she  should  never  strike  upon,  —  they  were  all 
marked  on  Elsie's  chart.  Love  had  been  the  root  of  all 
poor  Isella's  troubles,  —  and  Agnes  never  should  know  love, 
till  taught  it  safely  by  a  husband  of  Elsie's  own  choosing. 

The  first  step  of  security  was  in  naming  her  for  the  chaste 
Saint  Agnes,  and  placing  her  girlhood  under  her  special  pro 
tection.  Secondly,  which  was  quite  as  much  to  the  point,  she 
brought  her  up  laboriously  in  habits  of  incessant  industry, 
—  never  suffering  her  to  be  out  of  her  sight,  or  to  have  any 
connection  or  friendship,  except  such  as  could  be  carried  on 
under  the  immediate  supervision  of  her  piercing  black  eyes. 
Every  night  she  put  her  to  bed  as  if  she  had  been  an  infant, 
and,  wakening  her  again  in  the  morning,  took  her  with  her 
in  all  her  daily  toils,  —  of  which,  to  do  her  justice,  she  per 
formed  all  the  hardest  portion,  leaving  to  the  girl  just  enough 
to  keep  her  hands  employed  and  her  head  steady. 

The  peculiar  circumstance  which  had  led  her  to  choose 
the  old  town  of  Sorrento  for  her  residence,  in  preference  to 
any  of  the  beautiful  villages  which  impearl  that  fertile  plain, 
was  the  existence  there  of  a  flourishing  convent  dedicated 
to  Saint  Agnes,  under  whose  protecting  shadow  her  young 
charge  might  more  securely  spend  the  earlier  years  of  her 
life. 

With  this  view,  having  hired  the  domicile  we  have  al- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  S3 

ready  described,  she  lost  no  time  in  making  the  favorable 
acquaintance  of  the  sisterhood,  —  never  coming  to  them 
empty-handed.  The  finest  oranges  of  her  garden,  the 
whitest  flax  of  her  spinning,  were  always  reserved  as 
offerings  at  the  shrine  of  the  patroness  whom  she  sought 
to  propitiate  for  her  grandchild. 

In  her  earliest  childhood  the  little  Agnes  was  led  toddling 
to  the  shrine  by  her  zealous  relative  ;  and  at  the  sight  of 
her  fair,  sweet,  awe-struck  face,  with  its  viny  mantle  of  en 
circling  curls,  the  torpid  bosoms  of  the  sisterhood  throbbed 
with  a  strange,  new  pleasure,  which  they  humbly  hoped  was 
not  sinful,  —  as  agreeable  things,  they  found,  generally  were. 
They  loved  the  echoes  of  her  little  feet  down  the  damp, 
silent  aisles  of  their  chapel,  and  her  small,  sweet,  slender 
voice,  as  she  asked  strange  baby-questions,  which,  as  usual 
with  baby-questions,  hit  all  the  insoluble  points  of  philoso 
phy  and  theology  exactly  on  the  head. 

The  child  became  a  special  favorite  with  the  Abbess, 
Sister  Theresa,  a  tall,  thin,  bloodless,  sad-eyed  woman,  who 
looked  as  if  she  might  have  been  cut  out  of  one  of  the  gla 
ciers  of  Monte  Rosa,  but  in  whose  heart  the  little  fair  one 
had  made  herself  a  niche,  pushing  her  way  up  through,  as 
you  may  have  seen  a  lovely  blue-fringed  gentian  standing 
in  a  snow-drift  of  the  Alps  with  its  little  ring  of  melted  snow 
around  it. 

Sister  Theresa  offered  to  take  care  of  the  child  at  any 
time  when  the  grandmother  wished  to  be  about  her  labors ; 
and  so,  during  her  early  years,  the  little  one  was  often 
domesticated  for  days  together  at  the  Convent.  A  perfect 
mythology  of  wonderful  stories  encircled  her,  which  the 
good  sisters  were  never  tired  of  repeating  to  each  other. 
They  were  the  simplest  sayings  and  doings  of  childhood,  — 


34  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 

handfuls  of  such  wild-flowers  as  bespread  the  green  turf  of 
nursery-life  everywhere,  but  miraculous  blossoms  in  the 
eyes  of  these  good  women,  whom  Saint  Agnes  had  unwit 
tingly  deprived  of  any  power  of  making  comparisons  or  ever 
having  Christ's  sweetest  parable  of  the  heavenly  kingdom 
enacted  in  homes  of  their  own. 

Old  Jocunda,  the  porteress,  never  failed  to  make  a  sensa 
tion  with  her  one  stock-story  of  how  she  found  the  child 
standing  on  her  head  and  crying,  —  having  been  put  into  this 
reversed  position  in  consequence  of  climbing  up  on  a  high 
stool  to  get  her  little  fat  hand  into  the  vase  of  holy  water, 
failing  in  which  Christian  attempt,  her  heels  went  up  and 
her  head  down,  greatly  to  her  dismay. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  old  Jocunda,  gravely,  "  it  showed  an 
edifying  turn  in  the  child ;  and  when  I  lifted  the  little  thing 
up,  it  stopped  crying  the  minute  its  little  fingers  touched  the 
water,  and  it  made  a  cross  on  its  forehead  as  sensible  as  the 
oldest  among  us.  Ah,  sisters,  there 's  grace  there,  or  I  'm 
mistaken." 

All  the  signs  of  an  incipient  saint  were,  indeed,  manifested 
in  the  little  one.  She  never  played  the  wild  and  noisy  plays 
of  common  children,  but  busied  herself  in  making  altars  and 
shrines,  which  she  adorned  with  the  prettiest  flowers  of  the 
gardens,  and  at  which  she  worked  hour  after  hour  in  the 
quietest  and  happiest  earnestness.  Her  dreams  were  a  con 
stant  source  of  wonder  and  edification  in  the  Convent,  for 
they  were  all  of  angels  and  saints ;  and  many  a  time,  after 
hearing  one,  the  sisterhood  crossed  themselves,  and  the  Ab 
bess  said,  " Ex  oribus parvulorum"  Always  sweet,  dutiful, 
.  submissive,  cradling  herself  every  night  with  a  lulling  of 
sweet  hymns  and  infant  murmur  of  prayers,  and  found  sleep 
ing  in  her  little  white  bed  with  her  crucifix  clasped  to  hor 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  35 

bosom,  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  Abbess  thought  her  the 
special  favorite  of  her  divine  patroness,  and,  like  her,  the 
subject  of  an  early  vocation  to  be  the  celestial  bride  of  One 
fairer  than  the  children  of  men,  who  should  snatch  her  away 
from  all  earthly  things,  to  be  united  to  Him  in  a  celestial 
paradise. 

As  the  child  grew  older,  she  often  sat  at  evening  with 
wide,  wondering  eyes,  listening  over  and  over  again  to  the 
story  of  the  fair  Saint  Agnes :  —  How  she  was  a  princess, 
living  in  her  father's  palace,  of  such  exceeding  beauty  and 
grace  that  none  saw  her  but  to  love  her,  yet  of  such  sweet 
ness  and  humility  as  passed  all  comparison  ;  and  how,  when 
a  heathen  prince  would  have  espoused  her  to  his  son,  she 
said,  "Away  from  me,  tempter!  for  I  am  betrothed  to  a 
lover  who  is  greater  and  fairer  than  any  earthly  suitor,  —  he 
is  so  fair  that  the  sun  and  moon  are  ravished  by  his  beauty, 
so  mighty  that  the  angels  of  heaven  are  his  servants  ; "  how 
she  bore  meekly  with  persecutions  and  threatenings  and 
death  for  the  sake  of  this  unearthly  love ;  and  when  she  had 
poured  out  her  blood,  how  she  came  to  her  mourning  friends 
in  ecstatic  vision,  all  white  and  glistening,  with  a  fair  lamb 
by  her  side,  and  bade  them  weep  not  for  her,  because  she 
was  reigning  with  Him  whom  on  earth  she  had  preferred  to 
all  other  lovers.  There  was  also  the  legend  of  the  fair  Ce 
cilia,  the  lovely  musician  whom  angels  had  rapt  away  to 
their  choirs ;  the  story  of  that  queenly  saint,  Catharine, 
who  passed  through  the  courts  of  heaven,  and  saw  the 
angels  crowned  with  roses  and  lilies,  and  the  Virgin  on 
her  throne,  who  gave  her  the  wedding-ring  that  espoused 
her  to  be  the  bride  of  the  King  Eternal. 

Fed  with  such  legends,  it  could  not  be  but  that  a  child 
with  a  sensitive,  nervous  organization  and  vivid  imagination 


36  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

should  have  grown  up  with  an  unworldly  and  spiritual 
character,  and  that  a  poetic  mist  should  have  enveloped 
all  her  outward  perceptions  similar  to  that  palpitating  veil 
of  blue  and  lilac  vapor  that  enshrouds  the  Italian  land 
scape. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  marvelled  at,  if  the  results  of  this  system 
of  education  went  far  beyond  what  the  good  old  grandmother 
intended.  For,  though  a  stanch  good  Christian,  after  the 
manner  of  those  times,  yet  she  had  not  the  slightest  mind  to 
see  her  grand  -  daughter  a  nun ;  on  the  contrary,  she  was 
working  day  and  night  to  add  to  her  dowry,  and  had  in  her 
eye  a  reputable  middle-aged  blacksmith,  who  was  a  man  of 
substance  and  prudence,  to  be  the  husband  and  keeper  of 
her  precious  treasure.  In  a  home  thus  established  she 
hoped  to  enthrone  herself,  and  provide  for  the  rearing  of  a 
generation  of  stout-limbed  girls  and  boys  who  should  grow 
up  to  make  a  flourishing  household  in  the  land.  This  sub 
ject  she  had  not  yet  broached  to  her  grand-daughter,  though 
daily  preparing  to  do  so,  —  deferring  it,  it  must  be  told, 
from  &  sort  of  jealous,  yearning  craving  to  have  wholly 
to  herself  the  child  for  whom  she  had  lived  so  many 
years. 

Antonio,  the  blacksmith  to  whom  this  honor  was  des 
tined,  was  one  of  those  broad-backed,  full-chested,  long- 
limbed  fellows  one  shall  often  see  around  Sorrento,  with 
great,  kind,  black  eyes  like  those  of  an  ox,  and  all  the 
attributes  of  a  healthy,  kindly,  animal  nature.  Content 
edly  he  hammered  away  at  his  business;  and  certainly, 
had  not  Dame  Elsie  of  her  own  providence  elected  him 
to  be  the  husband  of  her  fair  grand-daughter,  he  would 
never  have  thought  of  the  matter  himself;  but,  opening 
the  black  eyes  aforenamed  upon  the  girl,  he  perceived  that 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  37 

she  was  fair,  and  also  received  an  inner  light  through 
Dame  Elsie  as  to  the  amount  of  her  dowry;  and,  putting 
these  matters  together,  conceived  a  kindness  for  the  maid 
en,  and  awaited  with  tranquillity  the  time  when  he  should 
be  allowed  to  commence  his  wooing. 


38  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER    V. 

IL    PADRE    FRANCESCO. 

THE  next  morning  Elsie  awoke,  as  was  her  custom, 
when  the  very  faintest  hue  of  dawn  streaked  the  horizon. 
A  hen  who  has  seen  a  hawk  balancing  his  wings  and 
cawing  in  mid-air  over  her  downy  family  could  not  have 
awakened  with  her  feathers,  metaphorically  speaking,  in  a 
more  bristling  state  of  caution. 

"Spirits  in  the  gorge,  quotha?"  said  she  to  herself,  as 
she  vigorously  adjusted  her  dress.  "I  believe  so,  —  spir 
its  in  good  sound  bodies,  I  believe ;  and  next  we  shall 
hear,  there  will  be  rope-ladders,  and  climbings,  and  the 
Lord  knows  what.  I  shall  go  to  confession  this  very 
morning,  and  tell  Father  Francesco  the  danger;  and  in 
stead  of  taking  her  down  to  sell  oranges,  suppose  I  send 
her  to  the  sisters  to  carry  the  ring  and  a  basket  of  or 
anges  ?  " 

"  Ah,  ah !  "  she  said,  pausing,  after  she  was  dressed,  and 
addressing  a  coarse  print  of  Saint  Agnes  pasted  against 
the  wall,  — "  you  look  very  meek  there,  and  it  was  a 
great  thing  no  doubt  to  die  as  you  did ;  but  if  you  'd  lived 
to  be  married  and  bring  up  a  family  of  girls,  you'd  have 
known  something  greater.  Please,  don't  take  offence  with 
a  poor  old  woman  who  has  got  into  the  way  of  speaking 
her  mind  freely  !  I  'm  foolish,  and  don't  know  much,  — 
so,  dear  lady,  pray  for  me  !  "  And  old  Elsie  bent  her 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  39 

knee  and  crossed  herself  reverently,  and  then  went  out, 
leaving  her  young  charge  still  sleeping. 

It  was  yet  dusky  dawn  when  she  might  have  been  seen 
kneeling,  with  her  sharp,  clear-cut  profile,  at  the  grate  of 
a  confession-box  in  a  church  in  Sorrento.  Within  was 
seated  a  personage  who  will  have  some  influence  on  our 
story,  and  who  must  therefore  be  somewhat  minutely  in 
troduced  to  the  reader. 

II  Padre  Francesco  had  only  within  the  last  year  ar 
rived  in  the  neighborhood,  having  been  sent  as  superior 
of  a  brotherhood  of  Capuchins,  whose  convent  was  perched 
on  a  crag  in  the  vicinity.  With  this  situation  came  a 
pastoral  care  of  the  district ;  and  Elsie  and  her  grand 
daughter  found  in  him  a  spiritual  pastor  very  different 
from  the  fat,  jolly,  easy  Brother  Girolamo,  to  whose  place 
he  had  been  appointed.  The  latter  had  been  one  of  those 
numerous  priests  taken  from  the  peasantry,  who  never  rise 
above  the  average  level  of  thought  of  the  body  from  which 
they  are  drawn.  Easy,  gossipy,  fond  of  good  living  and 
good  stories,  sympathetic  in  troubles  and  in  joys,  he  had 
been  a  general  favorite  in  the  neighborhood,  without  ex 
erting  any  particularly  spiritualizing  influence. 

It  required  but  a  glance  at  Father  Francesco  to  see 
that  he  was  in  all  respects  the  opposite  of  this.  It  was 
evident  that  he  came  from  one  of  the  higher  classes,  by 
that  indefinable  air  of  birth  and  breeding  which  makes 
itself  felt  under  every  change  of  costume.  Who  he  might 
be,  what  might  have  been  his  past  history,  what  rank  he 
might  have  borne,  what  part  played  in  the  great  warfare 
of  life,  was  all  of  course  sunk  in  the  oblivion  of  his  re 
ligious  profession,  where,  as  at  the  grave,  a  man  laid 
down  name  and  fame  and  past  history  and  worldly  goods, 


40  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

and  took  up  a  coarse  garb  and  a  name  chosen  from  the 
roll  of  the  saints,  in  sign  that  the  world  that  had  known 
him  should  know  him  no  more. 

Imagine  a  man  between  thirty  and  forty,  with  that  round, 
full,  evenly  developed  head,  and  those  chiselled  features, 
which  one  sees  on  ancient  busts  and  coins  no  less  than  in 
the  streets  of  modern  Rome.  The  cheeks  were  sunken 
and  sallow ;  the  large,  black,  melancholy  eyes  had  a  wist 
ful,  anxious,  penetrative  expression,  that  spoke  a  stringent, 
earnest  spirit,  which,  however  deep  might  be  the  grave 
in  which  it  lay  buried,  had  not  yet  found  repose.  The 
long,  thin,  delicately  formed  hands  were  emaciated  and 
bloodless ;  they  clasped  with  a  nervous  eagerness  a  rosary 
and  crucifix  of  ebony  and  silver,  —  the  only  mark  of 
luxury  that  could  be  discerned  in  a  costume  unusually 
threadbare  and  squalid.  The  whole  picture  of  the  man, 
as  he  sat  there,  had  it  been  painted  and  hung  in  a  gal 
lery,  was  such  as  must  have  stopped  every  person  of  a 
certain  amount  of  sensibility  before  it  with  the  convic 
tion  that  behind  that  strong,  melancholy,  earnest  figure 
and  face  lay  one  of  those  hidden  histories  of  human 
passion  in  which  the  vivid  life  of  mediaeval  Italy  was  so 
fertile. 

He  was  listening  to  Elsie,  as  she  kneeled,  with  that  easy 
air  of  superiority  which  marks  a  practised  man  of  the 
world,  yet  with  a  grave  attention  which  showed  that  her 
communication  had  awakened  the  deepest  interest  in  his 
mind.  Every  few  moments  he  moved  slightly  in  his  seat, 
and  interrupted  the  flow  of  the  narrative  by  an  inquiry 
concisely  put,  in  tones  which,  clear  and  low,  had  a  solemn 
and  severe  distinctness,  producing,  in  the  still,'  dusky  twilight 
of  the  church,  an  almost  ghostly  effect. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  41 

When  the  communication  was  over,  he  stepped  out  of  the 
confessional  and  said  to  Elsie  in  parting,  — "  My  daughter, 
you  have  done  well  to  take  this  in  time.  The  devices  of 
Satan  in  our  corrupt  times  are  numerous  and  artful,  and 
they  who  keep  the  Lord's  sheep  must  not  sleep.  Before 
many  days  I  will  call  .and  examine  the  child  ;  meanwhile  I 
approve  your  course." 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  awe-struck,  trembling  manner  in 
which  old  Elsie,  generally  so  intrepid  and  commanding,  stood 
before  this  man  in  his  brown  rough  woollen  gown  with  his 
corded  waist ;  but  she  had  an  instinctive  perception  of  the 
presence  of  the  man  of  superior  birth  no  less  than  a  rever 
ence  for  the  man  of  religion. 

After  she  had  departed  from  the  church,  the  Capuchin 
stood  lost  in  thought ;  and  to  explain  his  revery,  we  must 
throw  some  further  light  on  his  history. 

II  Padre  Francesco,  as  his  appearance  and  manner  inti 
mated,  was  in  truth  from  one  of  the  most  distinguished  fami 
lies  of  Florence.  He  was  one  of  those  whom  an  ancient 
writer  characterizes  as  "  men  of  longing  desire."  Born  with 
a  nature  of  restless  stringency  that  seemed  to  doom  him 
never  to  know  repose,  excessive  in  all  things,  he  had  made 
early  trial  of  ambition,  of  war,  and  of  what  the  gallants  of 
his  time  called  love,  —  plunging  into  all  the  dissipated  ex 
cesses  of  a  most  dissolute  age,  and  outdoing  in  luxury  and 
extravagance  the  foremost  of  his  companions. 

The  wave  of  a  great  religious  impulse  —  which  in  our 
times  would  have  been  called  a  revival  —  swept  over  the 
city  of  Florence,  and  bore  him,  with  multitudes  of  others,  to 
listen  to  the  fervid  preaching  of  the  Dominican  monk,  Je 
rome  Savonarola ;  and  amid  the  crowd  that  trembled,  wept, 
and  beat  their  breasts  under  his  awful  denunciations,  he,  too, 


42  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

felt  within  himself  a  heavenly  call,  —  the  death  of  an  old 
life,  and  the  uprising  of  a  new  purpose. 

The  colder  manners  and  more  repressed  habits  of  modern 
times  can  give  no  idea  of  the  wild  fervor  of  a  religious 
revival  among  a  people  so  passionate  and  susceptible  to 
impressions  as  the  Italians.  It  swept  society  like  a  spring 
torrent  from  the  sides  of  the  Apennines,  bearing  all  before 
it.  Houses  were  sacked  with  religious  fervor  by  penitent 
owners,  and  licentious  pictures  and  statuary  and  books,  and 
all  the  thousand  temptations  and  appliances  of  a  luxurious 
age,  were  burned  in  the  great  public  square.  Artists  con 
victed  of  impure  and  licentious  designs  threw  their  palettes 
and  brushes  into  the  expiatory  flames,  and  retired  to  con 
vents,  till  called  forth  by  the  voice  of  the  preacher,  and  bid 
to  turn  their  art  into  higher  channels.  Since  the  days  of 
Saint  Francis  no  such  profound  religious  impulse  had  agi 
tated  the  Italian  community. 

In  our  times  a  conversion  is  signalized  by  few  outward 
changes,  however  deep  the  inner  life ;  but  the  life  of  the 
Middle  Ages  was  profoundly  symbolical,  and  always  re 
quired  the  help  of  material  images  in  its  expression. 

The  gay  and  dissolute  young  Lorenzo  Sforza  took  leave 
of  the  world  with  rites  of  awful  solemnity.  He  made  his 
will  and  disposed  of  all  his  worldly  property,  and  assembling 
his  friends,  bade  them  the  farewell  of  a  dying  man.  Ar 
rayed  as  for  the  grave,  he  was  laid  in  his  coffin,  and  thus 
carried  from  his  stately  dwelling  by  the  brethren  of  the 
Misericordia,  who,  in  their  ghostly  costume,  with  mournful 
chants  and  lighted  candles,  bore  him  to  the  tomb  of  his  an 
cestors,  where  the  coffin  was  deposited  in  the  vault,  and  its 
occupant  passed  the  awful  hours  of  the  night  in  darkness 
and  solitude.  Thence  he  was  carried,  the  next  day,  almost 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  43 

in  a  state  of  insensibility,  to  a  neighboring  convent  of  the 
severest  order,  where,  for  some  weeks,  he  observed  a  peni 
tential  retreat  of  silence  and  prayer,  neither  seeing  nor  hear 
ing  any  living  being  but  his  spiritual  director. 

The  effect  of  all  this  on  an  ardent  and  sensitive  tempera 
ment  can  scarcely  be  conceived  ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  won 
dered  at  that  the  once  gay  and  luxurious  Lorenzo  Sforza, 
when  emerging  from  this  tremendous  discipline,  was  so 
wholly  lost  in  the  worn  and  weary  Padre  Francesco  that  it 
seemed  as  if  in  fact  he  had  died  and  another  had  stepped 
into  his  place.  The  face  was  ploughed  deep  with  haggard 
furrows,  and  the  eyes  were  as  those  of  a  man  who  has  seen 
the  fearful  secrets  of  another  life.  He  voluntarily  sought  a 
post  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  the  scenes  of  his  early 
days,  so  as  more  completely  to  destroy  his  identity  with  the 
past ;  and  he  devoted  himself  with  enthusiasm  to  the  task  of 
awakening  to  a  higher  spiritual  life  the  indolent,  self-indul 
gent  monks  of  his  order,  and  the  ignorant  peasantry  of  the 
vicinity. 

But  he  soon  discovered,  what  every  earnest  soul  learns 
who  has  been  baptized  into  a  sense  of  things  invisible,  how 
utterly  powerless  and  inert  any  mortal  man  is  to  inspire 
others  with  his  own  insights  and  convictions.  With  bitter 
discouragement  and  chagrin,  he  saw  that  the  spiritual  man 
must  forever  lift  the  dead  weight  of  all  the  indolence  and 
indifference  and  animal  sensuality  that  surround  him, —  that 
the  curse  of  Cassandra  is  upon  him,  forever  to  burn  and 
writhe  under  awful  visions  of  truths  which  no  one  around 
him  will  regard.  In  early  life  the  associate  only  of  the 
cultivated  and  the  refined,  Father  Francesco  could  not  but 
experience  at  times  an  insupportable  ennui  in  listening  to 
the  confessions  of  people  who  had  never  learned  either  to 


44  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

think  or  to  feel  with  any  degree  of  distinctness,  and  whom 
his  most  fervent  exhortations  could  not  lift  above  the  most 
trivial  interests  of  a  mere  animal  life.  He  was  weary  of 
the  childish  quarrels  and  bickerings  of  the  monks,  of  their 
puerility,  of  their  selfishness  and  self-indulgence,  of  their 
hopeless  vulgarity  of  mind,  and  utterly  discouraged  with 
their  inextricable  labyrinths  of  deception.  A  melancholy 
deep  as  the  grave  seized  on  him,  and  he  redoubled  his  aus 
terities,  in  the  nope  that  by  making  life  painful  he  might 
make  it  also  short. 

But  the  first  time  that  the  clear,  sweet  tones  of  Agnes 
rang  in  his  ears  at  the  confessional,  and  her  words,  so  full  of 
unconscious  poetry  and  repressed  genius,  came  like  a  strain 
of  sweet  music  through  the  grate,  he  felt  at  his  heart  a  thrill 
to  which  it  had  long  been  a  stranger,  and  which  seemed  to 
lift  the  weary,  aching  load  from  off  his  soul,  as  if  some  invis 
ible  angel  had  borne  it  up  on  his  wings. 

In  his  worldly  days  he  had  known  women  as  the  gallants 
in  Boccaccio's  romances  knew  them,  and  among  them  one 
enchantress  whose  sorceries  had  kindled  in  his  heart  one  of 
those  fatal  passions  which  burn  out  the  whole  of  a  man's 
nature,  and  leave  it,  like  a  sacked  city,  only  a  smoulder 
ing  heap  of  ashes.  Deepest,  therefore,  among  his  vows  of 
renunciation  had  been  those  which  divided  him  from  all 
womankind.  The  gulf  that  parted  him  and  them  was  in  his 
mind  deep  as  hell,  and  he  thought  of  the  sex  only  in  the 
light  of  temptation  and  danger.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  an  influence  serene,  natural,  healthy,  and  sweet  breath 
ed  over  him  from  the  mind  of  a  woman,  —  an  influence  so 
heavenly  and  peaceful  that  he  did  not  challenge  or  suspect 
it,  but  rather  opened  his  worn  heart  insensibly  to  it,  as  one 
in  a  fetid  chamber  naturally  breathes  freer  when  the  fresh 
air  is  admitted. 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  45 

How  charming  it  was  to  find  his  most  spiritual  exhorta 
tions  seized  upon  with  the  eager  comprehension  of  a  nature 
innately  poetic  and  ideal!  Nay,  it  sometimes  seemed  to 
him  as  if  the  suggestions  which  he  gave  her  dry  and  leafless 
she  brought  again  to  him  in  miraculous  clusters  of  flowers, 
like  the  barren  rod  of  Joseph,  which  broke  into  blossoms 
when  he  was  betrothed  to  the  spotless  Mary ;  and  yet,  withal, 
she  was  so  humbly  unconscious,  so  absolutely  ignorant  of  the 
beauty  of  all  she  said  and  thought,  that  she  impressed  him 
less  as  a  mortal  woman  than  as  one  of  those  divine  miracles 
in  feminine  form  of  which  he  had  heard  in  the  legends  of  the 
saints. 

Thenceforward  his  barren,  discouraged  life  began  to  blos 
som  with  way-side  flowers,  —  and  he  mistrusted  not  the 
miracle,  because  the  flowers  were  all  heavenly.  The  pious 
thought  or  holy  admonition  that  he  saw  trodden  under  the 
swinish  feet  of  the  monks  he  gathered  up  again  in  hope,  — 
she  would  understand  it ;  and  gradually  all  his  thoughts  be 
came  like  carrier-doves,  which,  having  once  learned  the  way 
to  a  favorite  haunt,  are  ever  fluttering  to  return  thither. 

Such  is  the  wonderful  power  of  human  sympathy,  that  the 
discovery  even  of  the  existence  of  a  soul  capable  of  under 
standing  our  inner  life  often  operates  as  a  perfect  charm  ; 
every  thought,  and  feeling,  and  aspiration  carries  with  it  a 
new  value,  from  the  interwoven  consciousness  that  attends  it 
of  the  worth  it  would  bear  to  that  other  mind ;  so  that,  while 
that  person  lives,  our  existence  is  doubled  in  value,  even 
though  oceans  divide  us. 

The  cloud  of  hopeless  melancholy  which  had  brooded  over 
the  mind  of  Father  Francesco  lifted  and  sailed  away,  he 
knew  not  why,  he  knew  not  when.  A  secret  joyfulness  and 
alacrity  possessed  his  spirits ;  his  prayers  became  more  fer- 


46  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

vent  and  his  praises  more  frequent.  Until  now,  his  medita 
tions  had  been  most  frequently  those  of  fear  and  wrath,  — 
the  awful  majesty  of  God,  the  terrible  punishment  of  sin 
ners,  which  he  conceived  with  all  that  haggard,  dreadful 
sincerity  of  vigor  which  characterized  the  modern  Etruscan 
phase  of  religion  of  which  the  "  Inferno  "  of  Dante  was  the 
exponent  and  the  out-come.  His  preachings  and  his  ex 
hortations  had  dwelt  on  that  lurid  world  seen  by  the  severe 
Florentine,  at  whose  threshold  hope  forever  departs,  and 
around  whose  eternal  circles  of  living  torture  the  shivering 
spirit  wanders  dismayed  and  blasted  by  terror. 

He  had  been  shocked  and  discouraged  to  find  how  utterly 
vain  had  been  his  most  intense  efforts  to  stem  the  course 
of  sin  by  presenting  these  images  of  terror:  how  hard  na 
tures  had  listened  to  them  with  only  a  coarse  and  cruel 
appetite,  which  seemed  to  increase  their  hardness  and 
brutality ;  and  how  timid  ones  had  been  withered  by  them, 
like  flowers  scorched  by  the  blast  of  a  furnace ;  how,  in 
fact,  as  in  the  case  of  those  cruel  executions  and  bloody 
tortures  then  universal  in  the  jurisprudence  of  Europe, 
these  pictures  of  eternal  torture  seemed  to  exert  a  morbid 
demoralizing  influence  which  hurried  on  the  growth  of 
iniquity. 

But  since  his  acquaintance  with  Agnes,  without  his  know 
ing  exactly  why,  thoughts  of  the  Divine  Love  had  floated 
into  his  soul,  filling  it  with  a  golden  cloud  like  that  which 
of  old  rested  over  the  mercy-seat  in  that  sacred  inner  tem 
ple  where  the  priest  was  admitted  alone.  He  became  more 
affable  and  tender,  more  tolerant  to  the  erring,  more  fond  of 
little  children ;  would  stop  sometimes  to  lay  his  hand  on  the 
head  of  a  child,  or  to  raise  up  one  who  lay  overthrown  in 
the  street.  The  song  of  little  birds  and  the  voices  of  ani- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  47 

mal  life  became  to  him  full  of  tenderness;  and  his  prayers 
by  the  sick  and  dying  seemed  to  have  a  melting  power,  such 
as  he  had  never  known  before.  It  was  spring  in  his  soul, 
—  soft,  Italian  spring,  —  such  as  brings  out  the  musky 
breath  of  the  cyclamen,  and  the  faint,  tender  perfume  of  the 
primrose,  in  every  moist  dell  of  the  Apennines. 

A  year  passed  in  this  way,  perhaps  the  best  and  happiest 
of  his  troubled  life,  —  a  year  in  which,  insensibly  to  himself, 
the  weekly  interviews  with  Agnes  at  the  confessional  became 
the  rallying-points  around  which  the  whole  of  his  life  was 
formed,  and  she  the  unsuspected  spring  of  his  inner  being. 

It  was  his  duty,  he  said  to  himself,  to  give  more  than 
usual  time  and  thought  to  the  working  and  polishing  of  this 
wondrous  jewel  which  had  so  unexpectedly  been  intrusted 
to  him  for  the  adorning  of  his  Master's  crown ;  and  so 
long  as  he  conducted  with  the  strictest  circumspection  of 
his  office,  what  had  he  to  fear  in  the  way  of  so  delight 
ful  a  duty  ?  He  had  never  touched  her  hand ;  never  had 
even  the  folds  of  her  passing  drapery  brushed  against  his 
garments  of  mortification  and  renunciation  ;  never,  even  in 
pastoral  benediction,  had  he  dared  lay  his  hand  on  that 
beautiful  head.  It  is  true,  he  had  not  forbidden  himself 
to  raise  his  glance  sometimes  when  he  saw  her  coming  in 
at  the  church-door  and  gliding  up  the  aisle  with  downcast 
eyes,  and  thoughts  evidently  so  far  above  earth,  that  she 
seemed,  like  one  of  Fra  Angelico's  angels,  to  be  moving 
on  a  cloud,  so  encompassed  with  stillness  and  sanctity  that 
he  held  his  breath  as  she  passed. 

But  in  the  confession  of  Dame  Elsie  that  morning  he 
had  received  a  shock  which  threw  his  whole  interior  being 
into  a  passionate  agitation  which  dismayed  and  astonished 
him. 


48  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 

The  thought  of  Agnes,  his  spotless  lamb,  exposed  to  law 
less  and  licentious  pursuit,  of  whose  nature  and  probabili 
ties  his  past  life  gave  him  only  too  clear  an  idea,  was  of 
itself  a  very  natural  source  of  anxiety.  But  Elsie  had 
unveiled  to  him  her  plans  for  her  marriage,  and  consulted 
him  on  the  propriety  of  placing  Agnes  immediately  under 
the  protection  of  the  husband  she  had  chosen  for  her ;  and 
it  was  this  part  of  her  communication  which  had  awakened 
the  severest  internal  recoil,  and  raised  a  tumult  of  passions 
which  the  priest  vainly  sought  either  to  assuage  or  under 
stand. 
% 

As  soon  as  his  morning  duties  were  over,  he  repaired 
to  his  convent,  sought  his  cell,  and,  prostrate  on  his  face 
before  the  crucifix,  began  his  internal  reckoning  with  him 
self.  The  day  passed  in  fasting  and  solitude. 

It  is  now  golden  evening,  and  on  the  square,  flat  roof 
of  the  convent,  which,  high-perched  on  a  crag,  overlooks 
the  bay,  one  might  observe  a  dark  figure  slowly  pacing 
backward  and  forward.  It  is  Father  Francesco ;  and  as 
he  walks  up  and  down,  one  could  see  by  his  large,  bright, 
dilated  eye,  by  the  vivid  red  spot  on  either  sunken  cheek, 
and  by  the  nervous  energy  of  his  movements,  that  he  is 
in  the  very  height  of  some  mental  crisis,  —  in  that  state 
of  placid  extase  in  which  the  subject  supposes  himself 
perfectly  calm,  because  every  nerve  is  screwed  to  the 
highest  point  of  tension  and  can  vibrate  no  more. 

What  oceans  had  that  day  rolled  over  him  and  swept 
him,  as  one  may  see  a  little  boat  rocked  on  the  capri 
cious  surges  of  the  Mediterranean !  Were,  then,  all  his 
strivings  and  agonies  in  vain  ?  Did  he  love  this  woman 
with  any  earthly  love  ?  Was  he  jealous  of  the  thought 
of  a  future  husband  ?  Was  it  a  tempting  demon  that  said 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  49 

to  him,  "  Lorenzo  Sforza  might  have  shielded  this  treas 
ure  from  the  profanation  of  lawless  violence,  from  the 
brute  grasp  of  an  inappreciative  peasant,  but  Father 
Francesco  cannot "  ?  There  was  a  moment  when  his 
.  whole  being  vibrated  with  a  perception  of  what  a  mar 
riage  bond  might  have  been  that  was  indeed  a  sacrament, 
and  that  bound  together  two  pure  and  loyal  souls  who 
gave  life  and  courage  to  each  other  in  all  holy  purposes 
and  heroic  deeds ;  and  he  almost  feared  that  he  had 
cursed  his  vows,  —  those  awful  vows,  at  whose  remem 
brance  his  inmost  soul  shivered  through  every  nerve.* 

But  after  hours  of  prayer  and  struggle,  and  wave  after 
wave  of  agonizing  convulsion,  he  gained  one  of  those  high 
points  in  human  possibility  where  souls  can  stand  a  little 
while  at  a  time,  and  where  all  things  seem  so  transfigured 
and  pure  that  they  fancy  themselves  thenceforward  for 
ever  victorious  over  evil. 

As  he  walks  up  and  down  in  the  gold-and-purple  even 
ing  twilight,  his  mind  seems  to  him  calm  as  that  glow 
ing  sea  that  reflects  the  purple  shores  of  Ischia,  and  the 
quaint,  fantastic  grottos  and  cliffs  of  Capri.  All  is  golden 
and  glowing;  he  sees  all  clear;  he  is  delivered  from  his 
spiritual  enemies  ;  he  treads  them  under  his  feet. 

Yes,  he  says  to  himself,  he  loves  Agnes,  —  loves  her 
ail-sacredly  as  her  guardian  angel  does,  who  ever  behold- 
eth  the  face  of  her  Father  in  Heaven.  Why,  then,  does 
he  shrink  from  her  marriage  ?  Is  it  not  evident  ?  Has 
that  tender  soul,  that  poetic  nature,  that  aspiring  genius, 
anything  in  common  with  the  vulgar,  coarse  details  of  a 
peasant's  life?  Will  not  her  beauty  always  draw  the  eye 
of  the  licentious,  expose  her  artless  innocence  to  solicita 
tion  which  will  annoy  her  and  bring  upon  her  head  the 


50  AGXES  OF  SORRENTO. 

inconsiderate  jealousy  of  her  husband  ?  Think  of  Agnes 
made  subject  to  the  rude  authority,  to  the  stripes  and  cor 
rection,  which  men  of  the  lower  class,  under  the  promptings 
of  jealousy,  do  not  scruple  to  inflict  on  their  wives !  What 
career  did  society,  as  then  organized,  present  to  such  a 
nature,  so  perilously  gifted  in  body  and  mind?  He  has 
the  answer.  The  Church  has  opened  a  career  to  woman 
which  all  the  world  denies  her. 

He  remembers  the  story  of  the  dyer's  daughter  of  Siena, 
the  fair  Saint  Catharine.  In  his  youth  he  had  often  vis 
ited  the  convent  where  one  of  the  first  artists  of  Italy  has 
immortalized  her  conflicts  and  her  victories,  and  knelt  with 
his  mother  at  the  altar  where  she  now  communes  with  the 
faithful.  He  remembered  how,  by  her  sanctity,  her  hu 
mility,  and  her  holy  inspirations  of  soul,  she  had  risen  to 
the  courts  of  princes,  whither  she  had  been  sent  as  am 
bassadress  to  arrange  for  the  interests  of  the  Church  ;  and 
then  rose  before  his  mind's  eye  the  gorgeous  picture  of 
Pinturicchio,  where,  borne  in  celestial  repose  and  purity 
amid  all  the  powers  and  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  she  is 
canonized  as  one  of  those  that  shall  reign  and  intercede 
with  Christ  in  heaven. 

Was  it  wrong,  therefore,  in  him,  though  severed  from 
all  womankind  by  a  gulf  of  irrevocable  vows,  that  he 
should  feel  a  kind  of  jealous  property  in  this  gifted  and 
beautiful  creature?  and  though  he  might  not,  even  in 
thought,  dream  of  possessing  her  himself,  was  there  sin  in 
the  vehement  energy  with  which  his  whole  nature  rose  up 
in  him  to  say  that  no  other  man  should,  —  that  she  should 
be  the  bride  of  Heaven  alone  ? 

Certainly,  if  there  were,  it  lurked  far  out  of  sight ;  and 
the  priest  had  a  case  that  might  have  satisfied  a  conscience 


AGNES  OF   SORRENTO.  51 

even  more  fastidious  ;  —  and  he  felt  a  sort  of  triumph  in  the 
results  of  his  mental  scrutiny. 

Yes,  she  should  ascend  from  glory  to  glory,  —  but  his 
should  be  the  hand  that  should  lead  her  upward.  He  would 
lead  her  within  the  consecrated  grate,  —  he  would  pro 
nounce  the  awful  words  that  should  make  it  sacrilege  for 
all  other  men  to  approach  her ;  and  yet  through  life  he 
should  be  the  guardian  and  director  of  her  soul,  the  one 
being  to  whom  she  should  render  an  obedience  as  unlimited 
as  that  which  belongs  to  Christ  alone. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  of  this  victorious  hour,  —  which, 
alas  !  were  destined  to  fade  as  those  purple  skies  and  golden 
fires  gradually  went  out,  leaving,  in  place  of  their  light  and 
glory,  only  the  lurid  glow  of  Vesuvius. 


52  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WALK    TO    THE    CONVENT. 

ELSIE  returned  from  the  confessional  a  little  after  sun 
rise,  much  relieved  and  satisfied.  Padre  Francesco  had 
shown  such  a  deep  interest  in  her  narrative  that  she  was 
highly  gratified.  Then  he  had  given  her  advice  which 
exactly  accorded  with  her  own  views  ;  and  such  advice  is 
always  regarded  as  an  eminent  proof  of  sagacity  in  the 
giver. 

On  the  point  of  the  marriage  he  had  recommended  de 
lay,  —  a  course  quite  in  accordance  with  Elsie's  desire,  who, 
curiously  enough,  ever  since  her  treaty  of  marriage  with 
Antonio  had  been  commenced,  had  cherished  the  most 
whimsical,  jealous  dislike  of  him,  as  if  he  were  about  to 
get  away  her  grandchild  from  her ;  and  this  rose  at  times 
so  high  that  she  could  scarcely  speak  peaceably  to  him, —  a 
course  of  things  which  caused  Antonio  to  open  wide  his 
great  soft  ox-eyes,  and  wonder  at  the  ways  of  woman 
kind  ;  but  he  waited  the  event  in  philosophic  tranquillity. 

The  morning  sunbeams  were  shooting  many  a  golden 
shaft  among  the  orange-trees  when  Elsie  returned  and 
found  Agnes  yet  kneeling  at  her  prayers. 

"  Now,  my  little  heart,"  said  the  old  woman,  when  their 
morning  meal  was  done,  "  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  holiday 
to-day.  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  Convent,  and  you  shall 
spend  the  day  with  the  sisters,  and  so  carry  Saint  Agnes 
her  ring." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  53 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  grandmamma !  how  good  you  are  !  May 
I  stop  a  little  on  the  way,  and  pick  some  cyclamen  and  myr 
tles  and  daisies  for  her  shrine  ?  " 

"  Just  as  you  like,  child ;  but  if  you  are  going  to  do  that, 
we  must  be  off  soon,  for  I  must  be  at  my  stand  betimes  to 
sell  oranges :  I  had  them  all  picked  this  morning  while  my 
little  darling  was  asleep." 

"  You  always  do  everything,  grandmamma,  and  leave  me 
nothing  to  do :  it  is  not  fair.  But,  grandmamma,  if  we  are 
going  to  get  flowers  by  the  way,  let  us  follow  down  the 
stream,  through  the  gorge,  out  upon  the  sea-beach,  and  so 
walk  along  the  sands,  and  go  by  the  back  path  up  the 
rocks  to  the  Convent  :  that  walk  is  so  shady  and  lovely 
at  this  time  in  the  morning,  and  it  is  so  fresh  along  by 
the  sea-side ! " 

"As  you  please,  dearie;  but  first  fill  a  little  basket  with 
our  best  oranges  for  the  sisters." 

"  Trust  me  for  that ! "  And  the  girl  ran  eagerly  to  the 
house,  and  drew  from  her  treasures  a  little  white  wicker 
basket,  which  she  proceeded  to  line  curiously  with  orange- 
leaves,  sticking  sprays  of  blossoms  in  a  wreath  round  the 
border. 

"  Now  for  some  of  our  best  blood-oranges  ! "  she  said  ;  — 
"  old  Jocunda  says  they  put  her  in  mind  of  pomegranates. 
And  here  are  some  of  these  little  ones,  —  see  here,  grand 
mamma  ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  turned  and  held  up  a 
branch  just  broken,  where  five  small  golden  balls  grew 
together  with  a  pearly  spray  of  white  buds  just  beyond 
them. 

The  exercise  of  springing  up  for  the  branch  had  sent 
a  vivid  glow  into  her  clear  brown  cheek,  and  her  eyes  were 
dilated  with  excitement  and  pleasure  ;  and  as  she  stood  joy- 


54  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

ously  holding  the  branch,  while  the  flickering  shadows  fell  on 
her  beautiful  face,  she  seemed  more  like  a  painter's  dream 
than  a  reality. 

Her  grandmother  stood  a  moment  admiring  her. 

"  She  's  too  good  and  too  pretty  for  Antonio  or  any  other 
man  :  she  ought  to  be  kept  to  look  at,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  If  I  could  keep  her  always,  no  man  should  have  her ;  but 
death  will  come,  and  youth  and  beauty  go,  and  so  somebody 
must  care  for  her." 

When  the  basket  was  filled  and  trimmed,  Agnes  took  it 
on  her  arm.  Elsie  raised  and  poised  on  her  head  the  great 
square  basket  that  contained  her  merchandise,  and  began 
walking  erect  and  straight  down  the  narrow  rocky  stairs 
that  led  into  the  gorge,  holding  her  distaff  with  its  white 
flax  in  her  hands,  and  stepping  as  easily  as  if  she  bore  no 
burden. 

Agnes  followed  her  with  light,  irregular  movements, 
glancing  aside  from  time  to  .time,  as  a  tuft  of  flowers  or 
a  feathery  spray  of  leaves  attracted  her  fancy.  In  a  few 
moments  her  hands  were  too  full,  and  her  woollen  apron  of 
many-colored  stripes  was  raised  over  one  arm  to  hold  her 
treasures,  while  a  hymn  to  Saint  Agnes,  which  she  con 
stantly  murmured  to  herself,  came  in  little  ripples  of  sound, 
now  from  behind  a  rock,  and  now  out  of  a  tuft  of  bushes,  to 
show  where  the  wanderer  was  hid.  The  song,  like  many 
Italian  ones,  would  be  nothing  in  English,  —  only  a  musical 
repetition  of  sweet  words  to  a  very  simple  and  childlike  idea, 
the  bella,  bella,  bella  ringing  out  in  every  verse  with  a  tender 
joyousness  that  seemed  in  harmony  with  the  waving  ferns 
and  pendent  flowers  and  long  ivy-wreaths  from  among  which 
its  notes  issued.  "  Beautiful  and  sweet  Agnes,"  it  said,  in  a 
thousand  tender  repetitions,  "  make  me  like  thy  little  white 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  55 

lamb !  Beautiful  Agnes,  take  me  to  the  green  fields  where 
Christ's  lambs  are  feeding !  Sweeter  than  the  rose,  fairer 
than  the  lily,  take  rne  where  thou  art ! " 

At  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  a  little  stream  tinkles  its  way 
among  stones  so  mossy  in  their  deep,  cool  shadow  as  to  ap 
pear  all  verdure  ;  for  seldom  the  light  of  the  sun  can  reach 
the  darkness  where  they  lie.  A  little  bridge,  hewn  from 
solid  rock,  throws  across  the  shrunken  stream  an  arch  much 
wider  than  its  waters  seem  to  demand  ;  for  in  spring  and 
autumn,  when  the  torrents  wash  down  from  the  mountains, 
its  volume  is  often  suddenly  increased. 

This  bridge  was  so  entirely  and  evenly  grown  over  with 
short  thick  moss  that  it  might  seem  cut  of  some  strange 
kind  of  living  green  velvet,  and  here  and  there  it  was 
quaintly  embroidered  with  small  blossoming  tufts  of  white 
alyssum,  or  feathers  of  ferns  and  maiden's-hair  which  shook 
and  trembled  to  every  breeze.  Nothing  could  be  lovelier 
than  this  mossy  bridge,  when  some  stray  sunbeam,  slanting 
up  the  gorge,  took  a  fancy  to  light  it  up  with  golden  hues, 
and  give  transparent  greenness  to  the  tremulous  thin  leaves 
that  waved  upon  it. 

On  this  spot  Elsie  paused  a  moment,  and  called  back 
after  Agnes,  •  who  had  disappeared  into  one  of  those  deep 
grottos  with  which  the  sides  of  the  gorge  are  perforated,  and 
which  are  almost  entirely  veiled  by  the  pendent  iry-wreaths. 

"  Agnes !  Agnes  !  wild  girl !  come  quick  1 " 

Only  the  sound  of  "  Bella,  bella  Agnella  "  came  out  of  the 
ivy-leaves  to  answer  her ;  but  it  sounded  so  happy  and  in 
nocent  that  Elsie  could  not  forbear  a  smile,  and  in  a  mo 
ment  Agnes  came  springing  down  with  a  quantity  of  the 
feathery  lycopodium  in  her  hands,  which  grows  nowhere 
so  well  as  in  moist  and  dripping  places. 


56  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

Out  of  her  apron  were  hanging  festoons  of  golden  broom, 
crimson  gladiolus,  and  long,  trailing  sprays  of  ivy ;  while  she 
held  aloft  in  triumph  a  handful  of  the  most  superb  cyclamen, 
whose  rosy  crowns  rise  so  beautifully  above  their  dark  quaint 
leaves  in  moist  and  shady  places. 

"  See,  see,  grandmother,  what  an  offering  I  have  !  Saint 
Agnes  will  be  pleased  with  me  to-day ;  for  I  believe  in  her 
heart  she  loves  flowers  better  than  gems." 

"  Well,  well,  wild  one,  —  time  flies,  we  must  hurry."  And 
crossing  the  bridge  quickly,  the  grandmother  struck  into  a 
mossy  foot-path  that  led  them,  after  some  walking,  under  the 
old  Roman  bridge  at  the  gateway  of  Sorrento.  Two  hun 
dred  feet  above  their  heads  rose  the  mighty  arches,  enam 
elled  with  moss  and  feathered  with  ferns  all  the  way  ;  and 
below  this  bridge  the  gorge  grew  somewhat  wider,  its  sides 
gradually  receding  and  leaving  a  beautiful  flat  tract  of  land, 
which  was  laid  out  as  an  orange-orchard.  The  golden  fruit 
was  shut  in  by  rocky  walls  on  either  side  which  here  formed 
a  perfect  hot-bed,  and  no  oranges  were  earlier  or  finer. 

Through  this  beautiful  orchard  the  two  at  length  emerged 
from  the  gorge  upon  the  sea-sands,  where  lay  the  blue  Medi 
terranean  swathed  in  bands  of  morning  mist,  its  many-col 
ored  waters  shimmering  with  a  thousand  reflected  lights,  and 
old  Capri  panting  through  sultry  blue  mists,  and  Vesuvius 
with  his  cloud-spotted  sides  and  smoke-wreathed  top  burst 
into  view.  At  a  little  distance  a  boat-load  of  bronzed  fisher-" 
men  had  just  drawn  in  a  net,  from  which  they  were  throw 
ing  out  a  quantity  of  sardines,  which  flapped  and  fluttered  in 
the  sunshine  like  scales  of  silver.  The  wind  blowing  freshly 
bore  thousands  of  little  purple  waves  to  break  one  after 
another  at  the  foamy  line  which  lay  on  the  sand. 

Agnes  ran  gayly  along  the  beach  with  her  flowers  and 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  57 

vines  fluttering  from  her  gay  striped  apron,  and  her  cheeks 
flushed  with  exercise  and  pleasure,  —  sometimes  stopping 
and  turning  with  animation  to  her  grandmother  to  point  out 
the  various  floral  treasures  that  enamelled  every  crevice  and 
rift  of  the  steep  wall  of  rock  which  rose  perpendicularly 
above  their  heads  in  that  whole  line  of  the  shore  which  is 
crowned  with  the  old  city  of  Sorrento :  and  surely  never  did 
rocky  wall  show  to  the  open  sea  a  face  more  picturesque  and 
flowery.  The  deep  red  cliff  was  hollowed  here  and  there 
into  fanciful  grottos,  draped  with  every  varied  hue  and  form 
of  vegetable  beauty.  Here  a  crevice  high  in  air  was  all 
abloom  with  purple  gillyflower,  and  depending  in  festoons 
above  it  the  golden  blossoms  of  the  broom ;  here  a  cleft 
seemed  to  be  a  nestling-place  for  a  colony  of  gladiolus,  with 
its  crimson  flowers  and  blade-like  leaves;  here  the  silver- 
frosted  foliage  of  the  miller-geranium,  or  of  the  wormwood, 
toned  down  the  extravagant  brightness  of  other  blooms  by 
its  cooler  tints.  In  some  places  it  seemed  as  if  a  sort  of 
floral  cascade  were  tumbling  confusedly  over  the  rocks, 
mingling  all  hues  and  all  forms  in  a  tangled  mass  of 
beauty. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  old  Elsie,  as  Agnes  pointed  to  some 
.superb  gillyflowers  which  grew  nearly  half-way  up  the 
precipice,  — "  is  the  child  possessed  ?  You  have  all  the 
jjorge  in  your  apron  already.  Stop  looking,  and  let  us 
hurry  on." 

After  a  half-hour's  walk,  they  came  to  a  winding  staircase 
cut  in  the  rock,  which  led  them  a  zigzag  course  up  through 
galleries  and  grottos  looking  out  through  curious  windows 
and  loop-holes  upon  the  sea,  till  finally  they  emerged  at  the 
old  sculptured  portal  of  a  shady  garden  which  was  sur 
rounded  by  the  cloistered  arcades  of  the  Convent  of  Saint 
Agnes. 


58  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 

The  Convent  of  Saint  Agnes  was  one  of  those  monuments 
in  which  the  piety  of  the  Middle  Ages  delighted  to  com 
memorate  the  triumphs  of  the  new  Christianity  over  the  old 
Heathenism. 

The  balmy  climate  and  paradisiacal  charms  of  Sorrento 
and  the  adjacent  shores  of  Naples  had  made  them  favorite 
resorts  during  the  latter  period  of  the  Roman  Empire,  —  a 
period  when  the  whole  civilized  world  seemed  to  human 
view  about  to  be  dissolved  in  the  corruption  of  universal 
sensuality.  The  shores  of  Baiae  were  witnesses  of  the  or 
gies  and  cruelties  of  Nero  and  a  court  made  in  his  likeness, 
and  the  palpitating  loveliness  of  Capri  became  the  hot-bed 
of  the  unnatural  vices  of  Tiberius.  The  whole  of  Southern 
Italy  was  sunk  in  a  debasement  of  animalism  and  ferocity 
which  seemed  irrecoverable,  and  would  have  been  so,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  handful  of  salt  which  a  Galilean  peasant 
had  about  that  time  cast  into  the  putrid,  fermenting  mass  of 
human  society. 

We  must  not  wonder  at  the  zeal  which  caused  the  artistic 
Italian  nature  to  love  to  celebrate  the  passing  away  of  an 
era  of  unnatural  vice  and  demoniac  cruelty  by  visible  images 
of  the  purity,  the  tenderness,  the  universal  benevolence  which 
Jesus  had  brought  into  the  world. 

Some  time  about  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century,  it 
had  been  a  favorite  enterprise  of  a  princess  of  a  royal  family 
in  Naples  to  erect  a  convent  to  Saint  Agnes,  the  guardian 
of  female  purity,  out  of  the  wrecks  and  remains  of  an  ancient 
temple  of  Venus,  whose  white  pillars  and  graceful  acanthus- 
leaves  once  crowned  a  portion  of  the  precipice  on  which  the 
town  was  built,  and  were  reflected  from  the  glassy  blue  of 
the  sea  at  its  feet.  It  was  said  that  this  princess  was  the  first 
lady  abbess.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  proved  to  be  a  favorite 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  59 

retreat  for  many  ladies  of  rank  and  religious  aspiration, 
whom  ill-fortune  in  some  of  its  varying  forms  led  to  seek 
its  quiet  shades,  and  it  was  well  and  richly  endowed  by  its 
royal  patrons. 

It  was  built  after  the  manner  of  conventual  buildings 
generally,  —  in  a  hollow  square,  with  a  cloistered  walk 
around  the  inside  looking  upon  a  garden. 

The  portal  at  which  Agnes  and  her  grandmother  knocked, 
after  ascending  the  winding  staircase  cut  in  the  precipice, 
opened  through  an  arched  passage  into  this  garden. 

As  the  ponderous  door  swung  open,  it  was  pleasant  to 
hear  the  lulling  sound  of  a  fountain,  which  came  forth 
with  a  gentle  patter,  like  that  of  soft  summer  rain,  and  to 
see  the  waving  of  rose-bushes  and  golden  jessamines,  and 
smell  the  perfumes  of  orange-blossoms  mingling  with  those 
of  a  thousand  other  flowers. 

The  door  was  opened  by  an  odd-looking  portress.  She 
might  be  seventy-five  or  eighty ;  her  cheeks  were  of  the 
color  of  very  yellow  parchment  drawn  in  dry  wrinkles; 
her  eyes  were  those  large,  dark,  lustrous  ones  so  common 
in  her  country,  but  seemed,  in  the  general  decay  and  shrink 
ing  of  every  other  part  of  her  face,  to  have  acquired  a  wild, 
unnatural  appearance ;  while  the  falling  away  of  her  teeth 
left  nothing  to  impede  the  meeting  of  her  hooked  nose  with 
her  chin.  Add  to  this,  she  was  hump-backed,  and  twisted  in 
her  figure ;  and  one  needs  all  the  force  of  her  very  good- 
natured,  kindly  smile  to  redeem  the  image  of  poor  old 
Jocunda  from  association  with  that  of  some  Thracian  witch, 
and  cause  one  to  see  in  her  the  appropriate  portress  of  a 
Christian  institution. 

Nevertheless,  Agnes  fell  upon  her  neck  and  imprinted  a 
very  fervent  kiss  upon  what  was  left  of  her  withered  cheek, 


60  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

and  was  repaid  by  a  shower  of  those  epithets  of  endearment 
which  in  the  language  of  Italy  fly  thick  and  fast  as  the  petals 
of  the  orange-blossom  from  her  groves. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  old  Elsie,  —  "  I  'm  going  to  leave  her 
here  to-day.  You  've  no  objections,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Bless  the  sweet  lamb,  no !  She  belongs  here  of  good 
right.  I  believe  blessed  Saint  Agnes  has  adopted  her ;  for 
I  've  seen  her  smile,  plain  as  could  be,  when  the  little  one 
brought  her  flowers." 

"  Well,  Agnes,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  I  shall  come  for 
you  after  the  Ave  Maria."  Saying  which,  she  lifted  her 
basket  and  departed. 

The  garden  where  the  two  were  left  was  one  of  the  most 
peaceful  retreats  that  the  imagination  of  a  poet  could  cre 
ate. 

Around  it  ran  on  all  sides  the  Byzantine  arches  of  a 
cloistered  walk,  which,  according  to  the  quaint,  rich  fashion 
of  that  style,  had  been  painted  with  vermilion,  blue,  and 
gold.  The  vaulted  roof  was  spangled  with  gold  stars  on  a 
blue  ground,  and  along  the  sides  was  a  series  of  fresco  pic 
tures  representing  the  various  scenes  in  the  life  of  Saint 
Agnes  ;  and  as  the  foundress  of  the  Convent  was  royal  in 
her  means,  there  was  no  lack  either  of  gold  or  gems  or  of 
gorgeous  painting. 

Full  justice  was  done  in  the  first  picture  to  the  princely 
wealth  and  estate  of  the  fair  Agnes,  who  was  represented  as 
a  pure-looking,  pensive  child,  standing  in  a  thoughtful  atti 
tude,  with  long  ripples  of  golden  hair  flowing  down  over  a 
simple  white  tunic,  and  her  small  hands  clasping  a  cross  on 
her  bosom,  while,  kneeling  at  her  feet,  obsequious  slaves  and 
tire-women  were  offering  the  richest  gems  and  the  most 
gorgeous  robes  to  her  serious  and  abstracted  gaze. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  61 

In  another,  she  was  represented  as  walking  modestly  to 
school,  and  winning  the  admiration  of  the  son  of  the  Roman 
Praetor,  who  fell  sick  —  so  says  the  legend  —  for  the  love 
of  her. 

Then  there  was  the  demand  of  her  hand  in  marriage  by 
the  princely  father  of  the  young  man,  and  her  calm  rejec 
tion  of  the  gorgeous  gifts  and  splendid  gems  which  he  had 
brought  to  purchase  her  consent. 

Then  followed  in  order  her  accusation  before  the  tribu 
nals  as  a  Christian,  her  trial,  and  the  various  scenes  of  her 
martyrdom. 

Although  the  drawing  of  the  figures  and  the  treatment  of 
the  subjects  had  the  quaint  stiffness  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
their  general  effect,  as  seen  from  the  shady  bowers  of  the 
garden,  was  of  a  solemn  brightness,  a  strange  and  fanciful 
richness,  which  was  poetical  and  impressive. 

In  the  centre  of  the  garden  was  a  fountain  of  white 
marble,  which  evidently  was  the  wreck  of  something  that 
had  belonged  to  the  old  Greek  temple.  The  statue  of 
a  nymph  sat  on  a  green  mossy  pedestal  in  the  midst  of  a 
sculptured  basin,  and  from  a  partially  reversed  urn  on  which 
she  was  leaning  a  clear  stream  of  water  dashed  down  from 
one  mossy  fragment  to  another,  till  it  lost  itself  in  the  placid 
pool. 

The  figure  and  face  of  this  nymph,  in  their  classic  finish 
of  outline,  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  drawing  of  the 
Byzantine  paintings  within  the  cloisters,  and  their  juxtapo 
sition  in  the  same  enclosure  seemed  a  presentation  of  the 
spirit  of  a  past  and  present  era :  the  past  so  graceful  in  line, 
so  perfect  and  airy  in  conception,  so  utterly  without  spiritual 
aspiration  or  life  ;  the  present  limited  in  artistic  power,  but 
so  earnest,  so  intense,  seeming  to  struggle  and  burn,  amid  its 


62  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

stiff  and  restricted  boundaries,  for  the  expression  of  some 
diviner  phase  of  humanity. 

Nevertheless,  the  nymph  of  the  fountain,  different  in  style 
and  execution  as  it  was,  was  so  fair  a  creature,  that  it  was 
thought  best,  after  the  spirit  of  those  days,  to  purge  her  from 
all  heathen  and  improper  histories  by  baptizing  her  in  the 
waters  of  her  own  fountain,  and  bestowing  on  her  the  name* 
of  the  saint  to  whose  convent  she  was  devoted.  The  simple 
sisterhood,  little  conversant  in  nice  poin-ts  of  antiquity,  re 
garded  her  as  Saint  Agnes  dispensing  the  waters  of  purity 
to  her  convent ;  and  marvellous  and  sacred  properties  were 
ascribed  to  the  water,  when  taken  fasting  with  a  sufficient 
number  of  prayers  and  other  religious  exercises.  All  around 
the  neighborhood  of  this  fountain  the  ground  was  one  bed  of 
blue  and  white  violets,  whose  fragrance  filled  the  air,  and 
which  were  deemed  by  the  nuns  to  have  come  up  there  in 
especial  token  of  the  favor  with  which  Saint  Agnes  regarded 
the  conversion  of  this  heathen  relic  to  pious  and  Christian 
uses. 

This  nymph  had  been  an  especial  favorite  of  the  child 
hood  of  Agnes,  and  she  had  always  had  a  pleasure  which 
she  could  not  exactly  account  for  in  gazing  upon  it.  It  is 
seldom  that  one  sees  in  the  antique  conception  of  the  im 
mortals  any  trace  of  human  feeling.  Passionless  perfection 
and  repose  seem  to  be  their  uniform  character.  But  now 
and  then  from  the  ruins  of  Southern  Italy  fragments  have 
been  dug,  not  only  pure  in  outline,  but  invested  with  a 
strange  pathetic  charm,  as  if  the  calm,  inviolable  circle  of 
divinity  had  been  touched  by  some  sorrowing  sense  of  that 
unexplained  anguish  with  which  the  whole  lower  creation 
groans.  One  sees  this  mystery  of  expression  in  the  face  of 
that  strange  and  beautiful  Psyche  which  still  enchants  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  63 

Museum  of  Naples.  Something  of  this  charm  of  mournful 
pathos  lingered  on  the  beautiful  features  of  this  nymph,  — 
an  expression  so  delicate  and  shadowy  that  it  seemed  to  ad 
dress  itself  only  to  finer  natures.  It  was  as  if  all  the  silent, 
patient  woe  and  discouragement  of  a  dumb  antiquity  had 
been  congealed  into  this  memorial.  Agnes  was  often  con 
scious,  when  a  child,  of  being  saddened  by  it,  and  yet  drawn 
towards  it  with  a  mysterious  attraction. 

About  this  fountain,  under  the  shadow  of  bending  rose- 
trees  and  yellow  jessamines,  was  a  circle  of  garden-seats, 
adopted  also  from  the  ruins  of  the  past.  Here  a  graceful 
Corinthian  capital,  with  every  white  acanthus-leaf  perfect, 
stood  in  a  mat  of  acanthus-leaves  of  Nature's  own  making, 
glossy  green  and  sharply  cut;  and  there  was  a  long  portion 
of  a  frieze  sculptured  with  graceful  dancing  figures  ;  and  in 
another  place  a  fragment  of  a  fluted  column,  with  lycopo- 
dium  and  colosseum  vine  hanging  from  its  fissures  in  graceful 
draping.  On  these  seats  Agnes  had  dreamed  away  many  a 
tranquil  hour,  making  garlands  of  violets,  and  listening  to 
the  marvellous  legends  of  old  Jocunda. 

In  order  to  understand  anything  of  the  true  idea  of  con 
ventual  life  in  those  days,  we  must  consider  that  books  were 
as  yet  unknown,  except  as  literary  rarities,  and  reading  and 
writing  were  among  the  rare  accomplishments  of  the  higher 
classes  ;  and  that  Italy,  from  the  time  that  the  great  Roman 
Empire  fell  and  broke  into  a  thousand  shivers,  had  been 
subject  to  a  continual  series  of  conflicts  and  struggles,  which 
took  from  life  all  security.  Norman,  Dane,  Sicilian,  Span 
iard,  Frenchman,  and  German  mingled  and  struggled,  now 
up  and  now  down  ;  and  every  struggle  was  attended  by  the 
little  ceremonies  of  sacking  towns,  burning  villages,  and 
routing  out  entire  populations  to  utter  misery  and  wretched- 


64  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

ness.  During  these  tumultuous  ages,  those  buildings  conse 
crated  by  a  religion  recognized  alike  by  all  parties  afforded 
to  misfortune  the  only  inviolable  asylum,  and  to  feeble  and 
discouraged  spirits  the  only  home  safe  from  the  prospect  of 
reverses. 

If  the  destiny  of  woman  is  a  problem  that  calls  for  grave 
attention  even  in  our  enlightened  times,  and  if  she  is  too 
often  a  sufferer  from  the  inevitable  movements  of  society, 
what  must  have  been  her  position  and  needs  in  those  ruder 
ages,  unless  the  genius  of  Christianity  had  opened  refuges 
for  her  weakness,  made  inviolable  by  the  awful  sanctions  of 
religion  ? 

What  could  they  do,  all  these  girls  and  women  together, 
with  the  twenty-four  long  hours  of  every  day,  without  read 
ing  or  writing,  and  without  the  care  of  children  ?  Enough : 
with  their  multiplied  diurnal  prayer  periods,  with  each  its 
chants  and  ritual  of  observances,  —  with  the  preparation  for 
meals,  and  the  clearing  away  thereafter,  —  with  the  care  of 
the  chapel,  shrine,  sacred  gifts,  drapery,  and  ornaments, — 
with  embroidering  altar-cloths  and  making  sacred  tapers,  — 
with  preparing  conserves  of  rose-leaves  and  curious  spiceries, 
—  with  mixing  drugs  for  the  sick,  —  with  all  those  mutual 
offices  and  services  to  each  other  which  their  relations  in  one 
family  gave  rise  to,  —  and  with  divers  feminine  gossipries 
and  harmless  chatterings  and  cooings,  one  can  conceive  that 
these  dove-cots  of  the  Church  presented  often  some  of  the 
most  tranquil  scenes  of  those  convulsive  and  disturbed  pe 
riods. 

Human  nature  probably  had  its  varieties  there  as  other 
where.  There  were  there  the  domineering  and  the  weak, 
the  ignorant  and  the  vulgar,  and  the  patrician  and  the 
princess,  and  though  professedly  all  brought  on  the  footing 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  65 

of  sisterly  equality,  we  are  not  to  suppose  any  Utopian  de 
gree  of  perfection  among  them.  The  way  of  pure  spiritu 
ality  was  probably,  in  the  convent  as  well  as  out,  that  strait 
and  narrow  one  which  there  be  few  to  find.  There,  as 
elsewhere,  the  devotee  who  sought  to  progress  faster  toward 
heaven  than  suited  the  paces  of  her  fellow-travellers  was 
reckoned  a  troublesome  enthusiast,  till  she  got  far  enough  in 
advance  to  be  worshipped  as  a  saint. 

Sister  Theresa,  the  abbess  of  this  convent,  was  the  young 
est  daughter  in  a  princely  Neapolitan  family,  who  from  her 
cradle  had  been  destined  to  the  cloister,  in  order  that  her 
brother  and  sister  might  inherit  more  splendid  fortunes  and 
form  more  splendid  connections.  She  had  been  sent  to  this 
place  too  early  to  have  much  recollection  of  any  other  mode 
of  life  ;  and  when  the  time  came  to  take  the  irrevocable 
step,  she  renounced  with  composure  a  world  she  had  never 
known. 

Her  brother  had  endowed  her  with  a  livre  des  heures, 
illuminated  with  all  the  wealth  of  blue  and  gold  and  divers 
colors  which  the  art  of  those  times  afforded,  —  a  work  exe 
cuted  by  a  pupil  of  the  celebrated  Fra  Angelico ;  and  the 
possession  of  this  treasure  was  regarded  by  her  as  a  far 
richer  inheritance  than  that  princely  state  of  which  she  knew 
nothing.  Her  neat  little  cell  had  a  window  that  looked 
down  on  the  sea,  —  on  Capri,  with  its  fantastic  grottos,  —  on 
Vesuvius,  with  its  weird  daily  and  nightly  changes.  The 
light  that  came  in  from  the  joint  reflection  of  sea  and  sky 
gave  a  golden  and  picturesque  coloring  to  the  simple  and 
bare  furniture,  and  in  sunny  weather  she  often  sat  there,  just 
as  a  lizard  lies  upon  a  wall,  with  the  simple,  warm,  delight 
ful  sense  of  living  and  being  amid  scenes  of  so  much  beauty. 
Of  the  life  that  people  lived  in  the  outer  world,  the  strug- 


66  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

gle,  the  hope,  the  fear,  the  vivid  joy,  the  bitter  sorrow, 
Sister  Theresa  knew  nothing.  She  could  form  no  judg 
ment  and  give  no  advice  founded  on  any  such  expe 
rience. 

The  only  life  she  knew  was  a  certain  ideal  one,  drawn 
from  the  legends  of  the  saints ;  and  her  piety  was  a  calm, 
pure  enthusiasm  which  had  never  been  disturbed  by  a  temp 
tation  or  a  struggle.  Her  rule  in  the  Convent  was  even  and 
serene  ;  but  those  who  came  to  her  flock  from  the  real 
world,  from  the  trials  and  temptations  of  a  real  experience, 
were  always  enigmas  to  her,  and  she  could  scarcely  compre 
hend  or  aid  them. 

In  fact,  since  in  the  cloister,  as  everywhere  else,  character 
will  find  its  level,  it  was  old  Jocunda  who  was  the  real  gov 
erness  of  the  Convent.  Jocunda  was  originally  a  peasant 
woman,  whose  husband  had  been  drafted  to  some  of  the  wars 
of  his  betters,  and  she  had  followed  his  fortunes  in  the  camp. 
In  the  sack  of  a  fortress,  she  lost  her  husband  and  four  sons, 
all  the  children  she  had,  and  herself  received  an  injury  which 
distorted  her  form,  and  so  she  took  refuge  in  the  Convent. 
Here  her  energy  and  savoir-faire  rendered  her  indispensa 
ble  in  every  department.  She  made  the  bargains,  bought 
the  provisions,  (being  allowed  to  sally  forth  for  these  pur 
poses,)  and  formed  the  medium  by  which  the  timid,  abstract, 
defenceless  nuns  accomplished  those  material  relations  with 
the  world  with  which  the  utmost  saintliness  cannot  afford  to 
dispense.  Besides  and  above  all  this,  Jocunda's  wide  expe 
rience  and  endless  capabilities  of  narrative  made  her  an 
invaluable  resource  for  enlivening  any  dull  hours  that  might 
be  upon  the  hands  of  the  sisterhood  ;  and  all  these  recom 
mendations,  together  with  a  strong  mother- wit  and  native 
sense,  soon  made  her  so  much  the  leading  spirit  in  the  Con- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  67 

vent  that  Mother  Theresa  herself  might  be  said  to  be  under 
her  dominion. 

"  So,  so,"  she  said  to  Agnes,  when  she  had  closed  the  gate 
after  Elsie,  — r  "you  never  come  empty-handed.  What 
lovely  oranges  !  —  worth  double  any  that  one  can  buy  of 
anybody  else  but  your  grandmother." 

"  Yes,  and  these  flowers  I  brought  to  dress  the  altar." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  Saint  Agnes  has  given  you  a  particular  grace 
for  that,"  said  Jocunda. 

"  And  I  have  brought  a  ring  for  her  treasury,"  said  Ag 
nes,  taking  out  the  gift  of  the  Cavalier. 

"  Holy  Mother !  here  is  something,  to  be  sure  ! "  said 
Jocunda,  catching  it  eagerly.  "  Why,  Agnes,  this  is  a  dia 
mond,  —  and  as  pretty  a  one  as  ever  I  saw.  How  it  shines ! " 
she  added,  holding  it  up.  "  That's  a  prince's  present.  How 
did  you  get  it  ?  " 

*-*  I  want  to  tell  our  mother  about  it,"  said  Agnes. 

"  You  do  ?  "  said  Jocunda.  "  You  'd  better  tell  me.  I 
know  fifty  times  as  much  about  such  things  as  she." 

"  Dear  Jocunda,  I  will  tell  you,  too ;  but  I  love  Mother 
Theresa,  and  I  ought  to  give  it  to  her  first." 

"  As  you  please,  then,"  said  Jocunda.  "  Well,  put  your 
flowers  here  by  the  fountain,  where  the  spray  will  keep  them 
cool,  and  we  will  go  to  her." 


G8  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    DAY    AT    THE    CONVENT. 

THE  Mother  Theresa  sat  in  a  sort  of  withdrawing-room, 
the  roof  of  which  rose  in  arches,  starred  with  blue  and  gold 
like  that  of  the  cloister,  and  the  sides  were  frescoed  with 
scenes  from  the  life  of  the  Virgin.  Over  every  door,  and 
in  convenient  places  between  the  paintings,  texts  of  Holy 
Writ  were  illuminated  in  blue  and  scarlet  and  gold,  with  a 
richness  and  fancifulness  of  outline,  as  if  every  sacred  letter 
had  blossomed  into  a  mystical  flower.  The  Abbess-  herself, 
with  two  of  her  nuns,  was  busily  embroidering  a  new  altar- 
cloth,  with  a  lavish  profusion  of  adornment ;  and,  from  time 
to  time,  their  voices  rose  in  the  musical  tones  of  an  ancient 
Latin  hymn.  The  words  were  full  of  that  quaint  and  mys 
tical  pietism  with  which  the  fashion  of  the  times  clothed  the 
expression  of  devotional  feeling  :  — 

"  Jesu,  corona  virginum, 
Quern  mater  ilia  concepit, 
Quae  sola  virgo  parturit, 
Hsec  vota  clemens  accipe. 

"  Qui  pascis  inter  lilia 
Septus  choreis  virginum, 
Sponsus  decoris  gloria 
Sponsisque  reddens  praemia. 

"Quocunque  pergis,  virgines 
Sequuntur  atque  laudibus 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  69 

Post  te  canentes  cursitant 
Hymnosque  dulces  personant."  * 

This  little  canticle  was,  in  truth,  very  different  from  the 
hymns  to  Venus  which  used  to  resound  in  the  temple  which 
the  convent  had  displaced.  The  voices  which  sung  were  of 
a  deep,  plaintive  contralto,  much  resembling  the  richness  of 
a  tenor,  and  as  they  moved  in  modulated  waves  of  chanting 
sound  the  effect  was  soothing  and  dreamy.  Agnes  stopped 
at  the  door  to  listen. 

"  Stop,  dear  Jocunda,"  she  said  to  the  old  woman,  who  was 
about  to  push  her  way  abruptly  into  the  room,  "  wait  till  it 
is  over." 

Jocunda,  who  was  quite  matter-of-fact  in  her  ideas  of  re 
ligion,  made  a  little  movement  of  impatience,  but  was  recalled 
to  herself  by  observing  the  devout  absorption  with  which 
Agnes,  with  clasped  hands  and  downcast  head,  was  mentally 
joining  in  the  hymn  with  a  solemn  brightness  in  her  young 
face. 

"  If  she  has  n't  got  a  vocation,  nobody  ever  had  one,"  said 
Jocunda,  mentally.  "  Deary  me,  I  wish  I  had  more  of  one 
myself!" 

*  "  Jesus,  crown  of  virgin  spirits, 
Whom  a  virgin  mother  bore, 
Graciously  accept  our  praises 
While  thy  footsteps  we  adore. 

"  Thee  among  the  lilies  feeding 
Choirs  of  virgins  walk  beside, 
Bridegroom  crowned  with  glorious  beauty 
Giving  beauty  to  thy  bride. 

"  Where  thou  goest  still  they  follow 
Singing,  singing  as  they  move, 
All  those  souls  forever  virgin 
Wedded  only  to  thy  love." 


70  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

When  the  strain  died  away,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  con 
versation  on  the  respective  merits  of  two  kinds  of  gold  em- 
broidering-thread,  Agnes  and  Jocunda  entered  the  apartment. 
Agnes  went  forward  and  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Mother 
reverentially. 

Sister  Theresa  we  have  before  described  as  tall,  pale,  and 
sad-eyed,  —  a  moonlight  style  of  person,  wanting  in  all 
those  elements  of  warm  color  and  physical  solidity  which 
give  the  impression  of  a  real  vital  human  existence.  The 
strongest  affection  she  had  ever  known  had  been  that  which 
had  been  excited  by  the  childish  beauty  and  graces  of  Ag 
nes,  and  she  folded  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her  forehead 
with  a  warmth  that  had  in  it  the  semblance  of  maternity. 

"  Grandmamma  has  given  me  a  day  to  spend  with  you, 
dear  mother,"  said  Agnes. 

"  Welcome,  dear  little  child  ! "  said  Mother  Theresa. 
u  Your  spiritual  home  always  stands  open  to  you." 

"  I  have  something  to  speak  to  you  of  in  particular,  my 
mother,"  said  Agnes,  blushing  deeply. 

"  Indeed ! "  said  the  Mother  Theresa,  a  slight  movement 
of  curiosity  arising  in  her  mind  as  she  signed  to  the  two 
nuns  to  leave  the  apartment. 

"  My  mother,"  said  Agnes,  "  yesterday  evening,  as  grand 
mamma  and  I  were  sitting  at  the  gate,  selling  oranges,  a 
young  cavalier  came  up  and  bought  oranges  of  me,  and  he 
kissed  my  forehead  and  asked  me  to  pray  for  him,  and  gave 
me  this  ring  for  the  shrine  of  Saint  Agnes." 

"  Kissed  your  forehead !  "  said  Jocunda,  "  here 's  a  pretty 
go  !  it  is  n't  like  you,  Agnes,  to  let  him." 

"  He  did  it  before  I  knew,"  said  Agnes.  "  Grandmamma 
reproved  him,  and  then  he  seemed  to  repent,  and  gave  this 
ring  for  the  shrine  of  Saint  Agnes." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  71 

"  And  a  pretty  one  it  is,  too,"  said  Jocunda.  "  We  have  n't 
a  prettier  in  all  our  treasury.  Not  even  the  great  emerald 
the  Queen  gave  is  better  in  its  way  than  this." 

"  And  he  asked  you  to  pray  for  him  ?  "  said  Mother  The 
resa. 

"Yes,  mother  dear;  he  looked  right  into  my  eyes  and 
made  me  look  into  his,  and  made  me  promise ;  —  and  I  knew 
that  holy  virgins  never  refused  their  prayers  to  any  one  that 
asked,  and  so  I  followed  their  example." 

**  I  '11  warrant  me  he  was  only  mocking  at  you  for  a  poor 
little  fool,"  said  Jocunda ;  "  the  gallants  of  our  day  don't  be 
lieve  much  in  prayers." 

"  Perhaps  so,  Jocunda,"  said  Agnes,  gravely  ;  "  but  if  that 
be  the  case,  he  needs  prayers  all  the  more." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mother  Theresa.  "  Remember  the  story  of 
the  blessed  Saint  Dorothea,  —  how  a  wicked  young  noble 
man  mocked  at  her,  when  she  was  going  to  execution,  and 
said,  '  Dorothea,  Dorothea,  I  will  believe,  when  you  shall 
send  me  down  some  of  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  Paradise ; ' 
and  she,  full  of  faith,  said,  *  To-day  I  will  send  them ; '  and, 
wonderful  to  tell,  that  very  day,  at  evening,  an  angel  came 
to  the  young  man  with  a  basket  of  citrons  and  roses,  and 
said,  *  Dorothea  sends  thee  these,  wherefore  believe.'  See 
what  grace  a  pure  maiden  can  bring  to  a  thoughtless  young 
man,  —  for  this  young  man  was  converted  and  became  a 
champion  of  the  faith." 

"That  was  in  the  old  times,"  said  Jocunda,  sceptically. 
"  I  don't  believe  setting  the  lamb  to  pray  for  the  wolf  will  do 
much  in  our  day.  Prithee,  child,  what  manner  of  man  was 
this  gallant  ?  " 

"  He  was  beautiful  as  an  angel,"  said  Agnes,  "  only  it  was 
not  a  good  beauty.  He  looked  proud  and  sad,  both,  —  like 


72  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

one  who  is  not  at  ease  in  his  heart.  Indeed,  I  feel  very 
sorry  for  him ;  his  eyes  made  a  kind  of  trouble  in  my  mind, 
that  reminds  me  to  pray  for  him  often." 

"And  I  will  join  my  prayers  to  yours,  dear  daughter," 
said  the  Mother  Theresa ;  "  I  long  to  have  you  with  us,  that 
we  may  pray  together  every  day ;  —  say,  do  you  think  your 
grandmamma  will  spare  you  to  us  wholly  before  long  ?  " 

"  Grandmamma  will  not  hear  of  it  yet,"  said  Agnes  ;  "  and 
she  loves  me  so,  it  would  break  her  heart,  if  I  should  leave 
her,  and  she  could  not  be  happy  here ;  —  but,  mother,  you 
have  told  me  we  could  carry  an  altar  always  in  our  hearts, 
and  adore  in  secret.  When  it  is  God's  will  I  should  come 
to  you,  He  will  incline  her  heart." 

"  Between  you  and  me,  little  one,"  said  Jocunda,  "  I  think 
there  will  soon  be  a  third  person  who  will  have  something 
to  say  in  the  case." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Agnes. 

"A  husband,"  said  Jocunda;  "I  suppose  your  grand 
mother  has  one  picked  out  for  you.  You  are  neither 
hump-backed  nor  cross-eyed,  that  you  shouldn't  have  one 
as  well  as  other  girls." 

"  I  don't  want  one,  Jocunda ;  and  I  have  promised  to 
Saint  Agnes  to  come  here,  if  she  will  only  get  grandmother 
to  consent." 

"  Bless  you,  my  daughter  ! "  said  Mother  Theresa ;  "  only 
persevere  and  the  way  will  be  opened." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Jocunda,  "  we  '11  see.  Come,  little  one, 
if  you  would  n't  have  your  flowers  wilt,  we  must  go  back 
and  look  after  them." 

Reverently  kissing  the  hand  of  the  Abbess,  Agnes  with 
drew  with  her  old  friend,  and  crossed  again  to  the  garden  to 
attend  to  her  flowers. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  73 

"  Well  now,  childie,"  said  Jocunda,  "  you  can  sit  here  and 
weave  your  garlands,  while  I  go  and  look  after  the  conserves 
of  raisins  and  citrons  that  Sister  Cattarina  is  making.  She 
is  stupid  at  anything  but  her  prayers,  is  Cattarina.  Our 
Lady  be  gracious  to  me !  I  think  I  got  my  vocation  from 
Saint  Martha,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  me,  I  don't  know  what 
would  become  of  things  in  the  Convent.  Why,  since  I  came 
here,  our  conserves,  done  up  in  fig-leaf  packages,  have  had 
quite  a  run  at  Court,  and  our  gracious  Queen  herself  was 
good  enough  to  send  an  order  for  a  hundred  of  them  last 
week.  I  could  have  laughed  to  see  how  puzzled  the 
Mother  Theresa  looked ;  —  much  she  knows  about  con 
serves  !  I  suppose  she  thinks  Gabriel  brings  them  straight 
down  from  Paradise,  done  up  in  leaves  of  the  tree  of  life. 
Old  Jocunda  knows  what  goes  to  their  making  up  ;  she 's 
good  for  something,  if  she  is  old  and  twisted ;  many  a 
scrubby  old  olive  bears  fat  berries,"  said  the  old  portress, 
chuckling. 

"  Oh,  dear  Jocunda,"  said  Agnes,  "  why  must  you  go  this 
minute  ?  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  so  many  things ! " 

"  Bless  the  sweet  child !  it  does  want  its  old  Jocunda,  does 
it  ?  "  said  the  old  woman,  in  the  tone  with  which  one  caresses 
a  baby.  "  Well,  well,  it  should  then  !  Just  wait  a  minute, 
till  I  go  and  see  that  our  holy  Saint  Cattarina  has  n't  fallen 
a-praying  over  the  conserving-pan.  I  '11  be  back  in  a  mo 
ment." 

So  saying,  she  hobbled  off  briskly,  and  Agnes,  sitting 
down  on  the  fragment  sculptured  with  dancing  nymphs, 
began  abstractedly  pulling  her  flowers  towards  her,  shak 
ing  from  them  the  dew  of  the  fountain. 

Unconsciously  to  herself,  as  she  sat  there,  her  head 
drooped  into  the  attitude  of  the  marble  nymph,  and  her 
4 


74  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

sweet  features  assumed  the  same  expression  of  plaintive 
and  dreamy  thoughtfulness  ;  her  heavy  dark  lashes  lay  on 
her  pure  waxen  cheeks  like  the  dark  fringe  of  some  tropical 
flower.  Her  form,  in  its  drooping  outlines,  scarcely  yet 
showed  the  full  development  of  womanhood,  which  after- 
years  might  unfold  into  the  ripe  fulness  of  her  country 
women.  Her  whole  attitude  and  manner  were  those  of 
an  exquisitely  sensitive  and  highly  organized  being,  just 
struggling  into  the  life  of  some  mysterious  new  inner  birth, 
—  into  the  sense  of  powers  of  feeling  and  being  hitherto 
unknown  even  to  herself. 

"  Ah,"  she  softly  sighed  to  herself,  "  how  little  I  am  !  how 
little  I  can  do !  Could  I  convert  one  soul !  Ah,  holy  Dor 
othea,  send  down  the  roses  of  heaven  into  his  soul,  that  he 
also  may  believe !  " 

"  Well,  my  little  beauty,  you  have  not  finished  even  one 
garland,"  said  the  voice  of  old  Jocunda,  bustling  up  behind 
her.  "  Praise  to  Saint  Martha,  the  conserves  are  doing 
well,  and  so  I  catch  a  minute  for  my  little  heart." 

So  saying,  she  sat  down  with  her  spindle  and  flax  by 
Agnes,  for  an  afternoon  gossip. 

"  Dear  Jocunda,  I  have  heard  you  tell  stories  about  spirits 
that  haunt  lonesome  places.  Did  you  ever  hear  about  any 
in  the  gorge  ?  " 

«  Why,  bless  the  child,  yes,  —  spirits  are  always  pacing 
up  and  down  in  lonely  places.  Father  Anselmo  told  me 
that;  and  he  had  seen  a  priest  once  that  had  seen  that  in 
the  Holy  Scriptures  themselves,  —  so  it  must  be  true." 

"  Well,- did  you  ever  hear  of  their  making  the  most  beau 
tiful  music  ?  " 

"  Have  n't  I  ?  "  said  Jocunda,  —  "  to  be  sure  I  have,  — 
singing  enough  to  draw  the  very  heart  out  of  your  body,  — 


AGATES  OF  SORRENTO.  75 

it 's  an  old  trick  they  have.  Why  I  want  to  know  if  you 
never  heard  about  the  King  of  Amalfi's  son  coming  home 
from  fighting  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre  ?  Why,  there  's  rocks 
not  far  out  from  this  very  town  where  the  Sirens  live  ;  and 
if  the  King's  son  had  n't  had  a  holy  bishop  on  board,  who 
slept  every  night  with  a  piece  of  the  true  cross  under  his 
pillow,  the  green  ladies  wonld  have  sung  him  straight  into 
perdition.  They  are  very  fair-spoken  at  first,  and  sing  so 
that  a  man  gets  perfectly  drunk  with  their  music,  and  longs 
to  fly  to  them  ;  but  they  suck  him  down  at  last  under  water, 
and  strangle  him,  and  that's  the  end  of  him." 
"  You  never  told  me  about  this  before,  Jocunda." 
"  Have  n't  I,  child  ?  Well,  I  will  now.  You  see,  this  * 
good  bishop,  he  dreamed  three  times  that  they  would  sail 
past  these  rocks,  and  he  was  told  to  give  all  the  sailors  holy 
wax  from  an  altar-candle  to  stop  their  ears,  so  that  they 
shouldn't  hear  the  music.  Well,  the  King's  son  said  he 
wanted  to  hear  the  music,  so  he  would  n't  have  his  ears 
stopped  ;  but  he  told  'em  to  tie  him  to  the  mast,  so  that  he 
could  hear  it,  but  not  to  mind  a  word  he  said,  if  he  begged 
'em  ever  so  hard  to  untie  him. 

"  Well,  you  see  they  did  it ;  and  the  old  bishop,  he  had 
his  ears  sealed  up  tight,  and  so  did  all  the  men  ;  but  the 
young  man  stood  tied  to  the  mast,  and  when  they  sailed  past 
he  was  like  a  demented  creature.  He  called  out  that  it  was 
his  lady  who  was  singing,  and  he  wanted  to  go  to  her,  — 
and  his  mother,  who  they  all  knew  was  a  blessed  saint  in 
paradise  years  before  ;  and  he  commanded  them  to  untie 
him,  and  pulled  and  strained  on  his  cords  to  get  free ;  but 
they  only  tied  him  the  tighter,  and  so  they  got  him  past,  — 
for,  thanks  to  the  holy  wax,  the  sailors  never  heard  a  word, 
and  so  they  kept  their  senses.  So  they  all  got  safe  home  ; 


76  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

but  the  young  prince  was  so  sick  and  pining  that  he  had  to 
be  exorcised  and  prayed  for  seven  times  seven  days  before 
they  could  get  the  music  out  of  his  head." 

"  Why,"  said  Agnes,  "  do  those  Sirens  sing  there  yet  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  was  a  hundred  years  ago.  They  say  the  old 
bishop,  he  prayed  'em  down  ;  for  he  went  out  a  little  after 
on  purpose,  and  gave  'em  a  precious  lot  of  holy  water ;  most 
likely  he  got  'em  pretty  well  under,  though  my  husband's 
brother  says  he 's  heard  'em  singing  in  a  small  way,  like 
frogs  in  spring-time ;  but  he  gave  'em  a  pretty  wide  berth. 
You  see,  these  spirits  are  what 's  left  of  old  heathen  times, 
when,  Lord  bless  us  !  the  earth  was  just  as  full  of  'em  as  a 
bit  of  old  cheese  is  of  mites.  Now  a  Christian  body,  if  they 
take  reasonable  care,  can  walk  quit  of  'em  ;  and  if  they 
have  any  haunts  in  lonesome  and  doleful  places,  if  one  puts 
up  a  cross  or  a  shrine,  they  know  they  have  to  go." 

"  I  am  thinking,"  said  Agnes,  "  it  would  be  a  blessed  work 
to  put  up  some  shrines  to  Saint  Agnes  and  our  good  Lord  in 
the  gorge,  and  I  '11  promise  to  keep  the  lamps  burning  and 
the  flowers  in  order." 

"  Bless  the  child ! "  said  Jocunda,  "  that  is  a  pious  and 
Christian  thought." 

"  I  have  an  uncle  in  Florence  who  is  a  father  in  the  holy 
convent  of  San  Marco,  who  paints  and  works  in  stone,  — 
not  for  money,  but  for  the  glory  of  God;  and  when  he  comes 
this  way  I  will  speak  to  him  about  it,"  said  Agnes.  "  About 
this  time  in  the  spring  he  always  visits  us." 

"  That 's  mighty  well  thought  of,"  said  Jocunda.  "  And 
now,  tell  me,  little  lamb,  have  you  any  idea  who  this  grand 
cavalier  may  be  that  gave  you  the  ring  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Agnes,  pausing  a  moment  over  the  garland  of 
flowers  she  was  weaving,  — "  only  Giulietta  told  me  that 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  77 

he  was  brother  to  the  King.  Giulietta  said  everybody 
knew  him." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Jocunda.  "  Giulietta 
always  thinks  she  knows  more  than  she  does." 

"  Whatever  he  may  be,  his  worldly  state  is  nothing  to 
me,"  said  Agnes.  "  I  know  him  only  in  my  prayers." 

"Ay,  ay,"  muttered  the  old  woman  to  herself,  looking 
obliquely  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  at  the  girl,  who  was 
busily  sorting  her  flowers  ;  "  perhaps  he  will  be  seeking 
some  other  acquaintance." 

"  You  have  n't  seen  him  since  ?  "  said  Jocunda. 

"  Seen  him  ?     Why,  dear  Jocunda,  it  was  only  last  even- 


"  True  enough.  Well,  child,  don't  think  too  much  of  him. 
Men  are  dreadful  creatures,  —  in  these  times  especially ; 
they  snap  up  a  pretty  girl  as  a  fox  does  a  chicken,  and  no 
questions  asked." 

"  I  don't  think  he  looked  wicked,  Jocunda ;  he  had  a  proud 
sorrowful  look.  I  don't  know  what  could  make  a  rich,  hand 
some  young  man  sorrowful ;  but  I  feel  in  my  heart  that  he  is 
not  happy.  Mother  Theresa  says  that  those  who  can  do  noth 
ing  but  pray  may  convert  princes  without  knowing  it." 

"  Maybe  it  is  so,"  said  Jocunda,  in  the  same  tone  in 
which  thrifty  professors  of  religion  often  assent  to  the  same 
sort  of  truths  in  our  days.  "  I  've  seen  a  good  deal  of  that 
sort  of  cattle  in  my  day  ;  and  one  would  think,  by  their  ac 
tions,  that  praying  souls  must  be  scarce  where  they  came 
from." 

Agnes  abstractedly  stooped  and  began  plucking  handfuls 
of  lycopodium,  which  was  growing  green  and  feathery  on 
one  side  of  the  marble  frieze  on  which  she  was  sitting  ;  in 
so  doing,  a  fragment  of  white  marble,  which  had  been  over- 


78  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

grown  in  the  luxuriant  green,  appeared  to  view.  It  was 
that  frequent  object  in  the  Italian  soil,  —  a  portion  of  an  old 
Roman  tombstone.  Agnes  bent  over,  intent  on  the  mystic 
" Dis  Manibus"  in  old  Roman  letters. 

"  Lord  bless  the  child  !  I  've  seen  thousands  of  them,'* 
said  Jocunda  ;  "  it 's  some  old  heathen's  grave,  that 's  been 
in  hell  these  hundred  years." 

"  In  hell  ?  "  said  Agnes,  with  a  distressful  accent. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Jocunda.  "  Where  should  they  be  ? 
Serves  'em  right,  too  ;  they  were  a  vile  old  set." 

"  Oh,  Jocunda,  it 's  dreadful  to  think  of,  that  they  should 
have  been  in  hell  all  this  time." 

"And  no  nearer  the  end  than  when  they  began,"  said 
Jocunda. 

Agnes  gave  a  shivering  sigh,  and,  looking  up  into  the 
golden  sky  that  was  pouring  such  floods  of  splendor  through 
the  orange-trees  and  jasmines,  thought,  How  could  it  be  that 
the  world  could  possibly  be  going  on  so  sweet  and  fair  over 
such  an  abyss  ? 

"  Oh,  Jocunda  !  "  she  said,  "  it  does  seem  too  dreadful  to 
believe  !  How  could  they  help  being  heathen, —  being  born 
so, —  and  never  hearing  of  the  true  Church  ?  " 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  Jocunda,  spinning  away  energetical 
ly,  "  but  that 's  no  business  of  mine ;  my  business  is  to  save 
my  soul,  and  that 's  what  I  came  here  for.  The  dear  saints 
know  I  found  it  dull  enough  at  first,  for  I  'd  been  used  to 
jaunting  round  with  my  old  man  and  the  boys  ;  but  what 
with  marketing  and  preserving,  and  one  thing  and  another, 
I  get  on  better  now,  praise  to  Saint  Agnes  !  " 

The  large,  dark  eyes  of  Agnes  were  fixed  abstractedly 
on  the  old  woman  as  she  spoke,  slowly  dilating,  with  a  sad, 
mysterious  expression,  which  sometimes  came  over  them. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  79 

"  Ah !  how  can  the  saints  themselves  be  happy  ? "  she 
said.  "One  might  be  willing  to  wear  sackcloth  and  sleep 
on  the  ground,  one  might  suffer  ever  so  many  years  and 
years,  if  only  one  might  save  some  of  them." 

"  Well,  it  does  seem  hard,"  said  Jocunda ;  "  but  what 's 
the  use  of  thinking  of  it  ?  Old  Father  Anselmo  told  us  in 
one  of  his  sermons  that  the  Lord  wills  that  his  saints  should 
come  to  rejoice  in  the  punishment  of  all  heathens  and  here 
tics  ;  and  he  told  us  about  a  great  saint  once,  who  took  it 
into  his  head  to  be  distressed  because  one  of  the  old  heathen 
whose  books  he  was  fond  of  reading  had  gone  to  hell,  —  and 
he  fasted  and  prayed,  and  would  n't  take  no  for  an  answer, 
till  he  got  him  out." 

"  He  did,  then  ? "  said  Agnes,  clasping  her  hands  in  an 
ecstasy. 

"  Yes ;  but  the  good  Lord  told  him  never  to  try  it  again, 

—  and  He  struck  him  dumb,  as  a  kind  of  hint,  you  know. 
Why,  Father  Anselmo  said  that  even  getting  souls  out  of 
purgatory  was  no  easy  matter.     He  told  us  of  one  holy  nun 
who  spent  nine  years  fasting  and  praying  for  the  soul  of  her 
prince,  who  was  killed  in  a  duel,  and  then  she  saw  in  a  vis 
ion  that  he  was  only  raised  the  least  little  bit  out  of  the  fire, 

—  and  she  offered  up  her  life  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  Lord  to 
deliver  him,  but,  after  all,  when  she  died  he  was  n't  quite  de 
livered.     Such  things  made  me  think  that  a  poor  old  sinner 
like  me  would  never  get  out  at  all,  if  I  did  n't  set  about  it 
in  earnest,  —  though  it  a'n't  all  nuns  that  save  their  souls 
either.     I  remember  in  Pisa  I  saw  a  great  picture  of  the 
Judgment-Day  in    the   Campo    Santo,  and  there  were  lots 
of  abbesses,  and   nuns,  and  monks,  and   bishops  too,  that 
the  devils  were  clearing  off  into  the  fire." 

"  Oh,  Jocunda,  how  dreadful  that  fire  must  be  !  " 


80  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jocunda.  "  Father  Anselmo  said  hell-fire 
was  n't  like  any  kind  of  fire  we  have  here,  —  made  to  warm 
us  and  cook  our  food,  —  but  a  kind  made  especially  to  tor 
ment  body  and  soul,  and  not  made  for  anything  else.  I 
remember  a  story  he  told  us  about  that.  You  see,  there 
was  an  old  duchess  that  lived  in  a  grand  old  castle,  —  and  a 
proud,  wicked  old  thing  enough ;  and  her  son  brought  home 
a  handsome  young  bride  to  the  castle,  and  the  old  duchess 
was  jealous  of  her,  —  'cause,  you  see,  she  hated  to  give  up 
her  place  in  the  house,  and  the  old  family-jewels,  and  all  the 
splendid  things,  —  and  so  one  time,  when  the  poor  young 
thing  was  all  dressed  up  in  a  set  of  the  old  family-lace,  what 
does  the  old  hag  do  but  set  fire  to  it !  " 

"  How  horrible ! ';  said  Agnes. 

"  Yes ;  and  when  the  young  thing  ran  screaming  in  her 
agony,  the  old  hag  stopped  her  and  tore  off  a  pearl  rosary 
that  she  was  wearing,  for  fear  it  should  be  spoiled  by  the 
fire." 

"  Holy  Mother !  can  such  things  be  possible  ?  "  said 
Agnes. 

"  Well,  you  see,  she  got  her  pay  for  it.  That  rosary  was 
of  famous  old  pearls  that  had  been  in  the  family  a  hundred 
years  ;  but  from  that  moment  the  good  Lord  struck  it  with  a 
curse,  and  filled  it  white-hot  with  hell-fire,  so  that,  if  anybody 
held  it  a  few  minutes  in  their  hand,  it  would  burn  to  the 
bone.  The  old  sinner  made  believe  that  she  was  in  great 
affliction  for  the  death  of  her  daughter-in-law,  and  that  it 
was  all  an  accident,  and  the  poor  young  man  went  raving 
mad,  —  but  that  awful  rosary  the  old  hag  could  n't  get  rid  of. 
She  could  n't  give  it  away,  —  she  could  n't  sell  it,  —  but  back 
it  would  come  every  night,  and  lie  right  over  her  heart,  all 
white-hot  with  the  fire  that  burned  in  it.  She  gave  it  to  a 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  81 

convent,  and  she  sold  it  to  a  merchant,  but  back  it  came  ; 
and  she  locked  it  up  in  the  heaviest  chests,  and  she  buried  it 
down  in  the  lowest  vaults,  but  it  always  came  back  in  the 
night,  till  she  was  worn  to  a  skeleton  ;  and  at  last  the  old 
thing  died  without  confession  or  sacrament,  and  went  where 
she  belonged.  She  was  found  lying  dead  in  her  bed  one 
morning,  and  the  rosary  was  gone  ;  but  when  they  came  to 
lay  her  out,  they  found  the  marks  of  it  burned  to  the  bone 
into  her  breast.  Father  Anselmo  used  to  tell  us  this,  to  show 
us  a  little  what  hell-fire  was  like." 

"  Oh,  please,  Jocunda,  don't  let  us  talk  about  it  any  more," 
said  Agnes. 

Old  Jocunda,  with  her  tough,  vigorous  organization  and 
unceremonious  habits  of  expression,  could  not  conceive  the 
exquisite  pain  with  which  this  whole  conversation  had  vi 
brated  on  the  sensitive  being  at  her  right  hand,  —  that  what 
merely  awoke  her  hard-corded  nerves  to  a  dull  vibration  of 
not  unpleasant  excitement  was  shivering  and  tearing  the 
tenderer  chords  of  poor  little  Psyche  beside  her. 

Ages  before,  beneath  those  very  skies  that  smiled  so 
sweetly  over  her,  —  amid  the  bloom  of  lemon  and  citron, 
and  the  perfume  of  jasmine  and  rose,  the  gentlest  of  old 
Italian  souls  had  dreamed  and  wondered  what  might  be  the 
unknown  future  of  the  dead,  and,  learning  his  lesson  from 
the  glorious  skies  and  gorgeous  shores  which  witnessed  how 
magnificent  a  Being  had  given  existence  to  man,  had  re 
corded  his  hopes  of  man's  future  in  the  words  —  A.ut  beatus, 
aut  nihil ;  but,  singular  to  tell,  the  religion  which  brought 
with  it  all  human  tenderness  and  pities,  —  the  hospital  for  the 
sick,  the  refuge  for  the  orphan,  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
slave,  — .  this  religion  brought  also  the  news  of  the  eternal, 
hopeless,  living  torture  of  the  great  majority  of  mankind, 


82  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

past  and  present.  Tender  spirits,  like  those  of  Dante,  car 
ried  this  awful  mystery  as  a  secret  and  unexplained  anguish ; 
saints  wrestled  with  God  and  wept  over  it ;  but  still  the  aw 
ful  fact  remained,  spite  of  Church  and  sacrament,  that  the 
gospel  was  in  effect,  to  the  majority  of  the  human  race,  not 
the  glad  tidings  of  salvation,  but  the  sentence  of  unmitigable 
doom. 

The  present  traveller  in  Italy  sees  with  disgust  the  dim 
and  faded  frescoes  in  which  this  doom  is  portrayed  in  all  its 
varied  refinements  of  torture ;  and  the  vivid  Italian  mind 
ran  riot  in  these  lurid  fields,  and  every  monk  who  wanted. to 
move  his  audience  was  in  his  small  way  a  Dante.  The  poet 
and  the  artist  give  only  the  highest  form  of  the  ideas  of  their 
day,  and  he  who  cannot  read  the  "  Inferno  "  with  firm  nerves 
may  ask  what  the  same  representations  were  likely  to  have 
been  in  the  grasp  of  coarse  and  common  minds. 

The  first  teachers  of  Christianity  in  Italy  read  the  Gospels 
by  the  light  of  those  fiendish  fires  which  consumed  their  fel 
lows.  Daily  made  familiar  with  the  scorching,  the  searing, 
the  racking,  the  devilish  ingenuities  of  torture,  they  trans 
ferred  them  to  the  future  hell  of  the  torturers.  The  senti 
ment  within  us  which  asserts  eternal  justice  and  retribution 
was  stimulated  to  a  kind  of  madness  by  that  first  baptism  of 
fire  and  blood,  and  expanded  the  simple  and  grave  warnings 
of  the  gospel  into  a  lurid  poetry  of  physical  torture.  Hence, 
while  Christianity  brought  multiplied  forms  of  mercy  into 
the  world,  it  failed  for  many  centuries  to  humanize  the 
savage  forms  of  justice;  and  rack  and  wheel,  fire  and 
fagot  were  the  modes  by  which  human  justice  aspired  to  a 
faint  imitation  of  what  divine  justice  was  supposed  to  extend 
through  eternity. 

But  it  is  remarkable  always  to  observe  the  power  of  in- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  83 

dividual  minds  to  draw  out  of  the  popular  religious  ideas  of 
their  country  only  those  elements  which  suit  themselves,  and 
to  drop  others  from  their  thought.  As  a  bee  can  extract 
pure  honey  from  the  blossoms  of  some  plants  whose  leaves 
are  poisonous,  so  some  souls  can  nourish  themselves  only 
with  the  holier  and  more  ethereal  parts  of  popular  belief. 

Agnes  had  hitherto  dwelt  only  on  the  cheering  and  the 
joyous  features  of  her  faith ;  her  mind  loved  to  muse  on 
the  legends  of  saints  and  angels  and  the  glories  of  paradise, 
which,  with  a  secret  buoyancy,  she  hoped  to  be  the  lot  of 
every  one  she  saw.  The  mind  of  the  Mother  Theresa  was 
of  the  same  elevated  cast,  and  the  terrors  on  which  Jocunda 
dwelt  with  such  homely  force  of  language  seldom  made  a 
part  of  her  instructions. 

Agnes  tried  to  dismiss  these  gloomy  images  from  her 
mind,  and,  after  arranging  her  garlands,  went  to  decorate 
the  shrine  and  altar,  —  a  cheerful  labor  of  love,  in  which 
she  delighted. 

To  the  mind  of  the  really  spiritual  Christian  of  those  ages 
the  air  of  this  lower  world  was  not  as  it  is  to  us,  in  spite  of 
our  nominal  faith  in  the  Bible,  a  blank,  empty  space  from 
which  all  spiritual  sympathy  and  life  have  fled,  but,  like  the 
atmosphere  with  which  Raphael  has  surrounded  the  Sistine 
Madonna,  it  was  full  of  sympathizing  faces,  a  great  "  cloud 
of  witnesses."  The  holy  dead  were  not  gone  from  earth ; 
the  Church  visible  and  invisible  were  in  close,  loving,  and 
constant  sympathy,  —  still  loving,  praying,  and  watching  to 
gether,  though  with  a  veil  between. 

It  was  at  first  with  no  idolatrous  intention  that  the  prayers 
of  the  holy  dead  were  invoked  in  acts  of  worship.  Their* 
prayers  were  asked  simply  because  they  were  felt  to  be  as 
really  present  with  their  former  friends  and  as  truly  sym- 


84  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

pathetic  as  if  no  veil  of  silence  had  fallen  between.  In 
time  this  simple  belief  had  its  intemperate  and  idolatrous 
exaggerations,  —  the  Italian  soil  always  seeming  to  have  a 
fiery  and  volcanic  forcing  power,  by  which  religious  ideas 
overblossomed  themselves,  and  grew  wild  and  ragged  with 
too  much  enthusiasm ;  and,  as  so  often  happens  with  friends 
on  earth,  these  too  much  loved  and  revered  invisible  friends 
became  eclipsing  screens  instead  of  transmitting  mediums  of 
God's  light  to  the  soul. 

Yet  we  can  see  in  the  hymns  of  Savonarola,  who  per 
fectly  represented  the  attitude  of  the  highest  Christian  of 
those  times,  how  perfect  might  be  the  love  and  veneration 
for  departed  saints  without  lapsing  into  idolatry,  and  with 
what  an  atmosphere  of  warmth  and  glory  the  true  belief  of 
the  unity  of  the  Church,  visible  and  invisible,  could  inspire 
an  elevated  soul  amid  the  discouragements  of  an  unbelieving 
and  gainsaying  world. 

Our  little  Agnes,  therefore,  when  she  had  spread  all  her 
garlands  out,  seemed  really  to  feel  as  if  the  girlish  figure  that 
smiled  in  sacred  white  from  the  altar-piece  was  a  dear  friend 
who  smiled  upon  her,  and  was  watching  to  lead  her  up  the 
path  to  heaven. 

Pleasantly  passed  the  hours  of  that  day  to  tfce  girl,  and 
when  at  evening  old  Elsie  called  for  her,  she  wondered  that 
the  day  had  gone  so  fast. 

Old  Elsie  returned  with  no  inconsiderable  triumph  from 
her  stand.  The  cavalier  had  been  several  times  during  the 
day  past  her  stall,  and  once,  stopping  in  a  careless  way  to 
buy  fruit,  commented  on  the  absence  of  her  young  charge. 
This  gave  Elsie  the  highest  possible  idea  of  her  own  sagacity 
and  shrewdness,  and  of  the  promptitude  with  which  she  had 
taken  her  measures,  so  that  she  was  in  as  good  spirits  as 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  85 

people  commonly  are  who  think  they  have  performed  some 
stroke  of  generalship. 

As  the  old  woman  and  young  girl  emerged  from  the  dark- 
vaulted  passage  that  led  them  down  through  the  rocks  on 
which  the  convent  stood  to  the  sea  at  its  base,  the  light  of  a 
most  glorious  sunset  burst  upon  them,  in  all  those  strange 
and  magical  mysteries  of  light  which  any  one  who  has 
walked  that  beach  of  Sorrento  at  evening  will  never  for 
get. 

Agnes  ran  along  the  shore,  and  amused  herself  with  pick 
ing  up  little  morsels  of  red  and  black  coral,  and  those  frag 
ments  of  mosaic  pavements,  blue,  red,  and  green,  which  the 
sea  is  never  tired  of  casting  up  from  the  thousands  of  ancient 
temples  and  palaces  which  have  gone  to  wreck  all  around 
these  shores. 

As  she  was  busy  doing  this,  she  suddenly  heard  the  voice 
of  Giulietta  behind  her. 

"  So  ho,  Agnes  !  where  have  you  been  all  day  ?  " 

"  At  the  Convent,"  said  Agnes,  raising  herself  from 
her  work,  and  smiling  at  Giulietta,  in  her  frank,  open 
way. 

"Oh,  then  you  really  did  take  the  ring  to  Saint  Ag 
nes?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,"  said  Agnes. 

"  Simple  child  !  "  said  Giulietta,  laughing  ;  "  that  was  n't 
what  he  meant  you  to  do  with  it.  He  meant  it  for  you,  — 
only  your  grandmother  was  by.  You  never  will  have  any 
lovers,  if  she  keeps  you  so  tight." 

"  I  can  do  without,"  said  Agnes. 

"  I  could  tell  you  something  about  this  one,"  said  Giu 
lietta. 

"You  did  tell  me  something  yesterday,"  said  Agnes. 


80  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  But  I  could  tell  you  some  more.  I  know  he  wants  to 
see  you  again." 

"What  for?"  said  Agnes. 

"  Simpleton,  he  's  in  love  with  you.  You  never  had  a 
lover;  —  it's  time  you  had." 

"  I  don't  want  one,  Giulietta.  I  hope  I  never  shall  see 
him  again." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Agnes !  Why,  what  a  girl  you  are  ! 
Why,  before  I  was  as  old  as  you,  I  had  half-a-dozen  lov 
ers." 

"  Agnes,"  said  the  sharp  voice  of  Elsie,  coming  up  from 
behind,  "  don't  run  on  ahead  of  me  again  ;  —  and  you,  Mis 
tress  Baggage,  let  my  child  alone." 

"  Who 's  touching  your  child  ?  "  said  Giulietta,  scornfully. 
"  Can't  a  body  say  a  civil  word  to  her  ? " 

"  I  know  what  you  would  be  after,"  said  Elsie,  — "  fill 
ing  her  head  with  talk  of  all  the  wild,  loose  gallants  ; 
but  she  is  for  no  such  market,  I  promise  you !  Come, 
Agnes." 

So  saying,  old  Elsie  drew  Agnes  rapidly  along  with  her, 
leaving  Giulietta  rolling  her  great  black  eyes  after  them  with 
an  air  of  infinite  contempt. 

"  The  old  kite ! "  she  said ;  "  I  declare  he  shall  get  speech 
of  the  little  dove,  if  only  to  spite  her.  Let  her  try  her  best, 
and  see  if  we  don't  get  round  her  before  she  knows  it.  Pie- 
tro  says  his  master  is  certainly  wild  after  her,  and  I  have 
promised  to  help  him." 

Meanwhile,  just  as  old  Elsie  and  Agnes  were  turning  into 
the  orange-orchard  which  led  into  the  Gorge  of  Sorrento, 
they  met  the  cavalier  of  the  evening  before. 

He  stopped,  and,  removing  his  cap,  saluted  them  with  as 
much  deference  as  if  they  had  been  princesses.  Old  Elsie 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  87 

frowned,  and  Agnes  blushed  deeply;  —  both  hurried  for 
ward.  Looking  back,  the  old  woman  saw  that  he  was 
walking  slowly  behind  them,  evidently  watching  them  close 
ly,  yet  not  in  a  way  sufficiently  obtrusive  to  warrant  an  open 
rebuff. 


88  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    CAVALIER. 

NOTHING  can  be  more  striking,  in  common  Italian  life, 
than  the  contrast  between  out-doors  and  in-doors.  Without, 
all  is  fragrant  and  radiant ;  within,  mouldy,  dark,  and  damp. 
Except  in  the  well-kept  palaces  of  the  great,  houses  in  Italy 
are  more  like  dens  than  habitations,  and  a  sight  of  them  is 
a  sufficient  reason  to  the  mind  of  any  inquirer,  why  their 
vivacious  and  handsome  inhabitants  spend  their  life  princi 
pally  in  the  open  air.  Nothing  could  be  more  perfectly 
paradisiacal  than  this  evening  at  Sorrento.  The  sun  had 
sunk,  but  left  the  air  full  of  diffused  radiance,  which  trem 
bled  and  vibrated  over  the  thousand  many-colored  waves  of 
the  sea.  The  moon  was  riding  in  a  broad  zone  of  purple, 
low  in  the  horizon,  her  silver  forehead  somewhat  flushed  in 
the  general  rosiness  that  seemed  to  penetrate  and  suffuse 
every  object.  The  fishermen,  who  were  drawing  in  their 
nets,  gayly  singing,  seemed  to  be  floating  on  a  violet-and- 
gold-colored  flooring  that  broke  into  a  thousand  gems  at 
every  dash  of  the  oar  or  motion  of  the  boat.  The  old  stone 
statue  of  Saint  Antonio  looked  down  in  the  rosy  air,  itself 
tinged  and  brightened  by  the  magical  colors  which  floated 
round  it.  And  the  girls  and  men  of  Sorrento  gathered  in 
gossiping  knots  on  the  old  Roman  bridge  that  spanned  the 
gorge,  looked  idly  down  into  its  dusky  shadows,  talking  the 
while,  and  playing  the  time-honored  game  of  flirtation  which 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  89 

has  gone  on  in  all  climes  and  languages  since  man  and  woman 
began. 

Conspicuous  among  them  all  was  Giulietta,  her  blue-black 
hair  recently  braided  and  polished  to  a  glossy  radiance,  and 
all  her  costume  arranged  to  show  her  comely  proportions  to 
the  best  advantage,  —  her  great  pearl  ear-rings  shaking  as 
she  tossed  her  head,  and  showing  the  flash  of  the  emerald  in 
the  middle  of  them.  An  Italian  peasant- woman  may  trust 
Providence  for  her  gown,  but  ear-rings  she  attends  to  her 
self,  —  for  what  is  life  without  them  ?  The  great  pearl  ear 
rings  of  the  Sorrento  women  are  accumulated,  pearl  by 
pearl,  as  the  price  of  years  of  labor.  Giulietta,  however, 
had  come  into  the  world,  so  to  speak,  with  a  gold  spoon  in 
her  mouth,  —  since  her  grandmother,  a  thriving,  stirring, 
energetic  body,  had  got  together  a  pair  of  ear-rings  of  un 
matched  size,  which  had  descended  as  heirlooms  to  her, 
leaving  her  nothing  to  do  but  display  them,  which  she  did 
with  the  freest  good-will.  At  present  she  was  busily  occu 
pied  in  coquetting  with  a  tall  and  jauntily-dressed  fellow, 
wearing  a  plumed  hat  and  a  red  sash,  who  seemed  to  be 
mesmerized  by  the  power  of  her  charms,  his  large  dark  eyes 
following  every  movement,  as  she  now  talked  with  him  gayly 
and  freely,  and  now  pretended  errands  to  this  and  that  and 
the  other  person  on  the  bridge,  stationing  herself  here  and 
there,  that  she  might  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  herself 
followed. 

"  Giulietta,"  at  last  said  the  young  man,  earnestly,  when 
he  found  her  accidentally  standing  alone  by  the  parapet,  "  I 
must  be  going  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  what  is  that  to  me  ?  "  said  Giulietta,  looking  wick 
edly  from  under  her  eyelashes. 

"  Cruel  girl !  you  know  " 


'- 


90  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Nonsense,  Pietro  !  I  don't  know  anything  about  you  ; " 
but  as  Giulietta  said  this,  her  great,  soft,  dark  eyes  looked 
out  furtively,  and  said  just  the  contrary. 

"You  will  go  with  me?" 

"  Did  I  ever  hear  anything  like  it  ?  One  can't  be  civil 
to  a  fellow  but  he  asks  her  to  go  to  the  world's  end.  Pray, 
how  far  is  it  to  your  dreadful  old  den?" 

"  Only  two  days'  journey,  Giulietta." 

"  Two  days  !  " 

"  Yes,  my  life ;  and  you  shall  ride." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir,  —  I  wasn't  thinking  of  walking.  But 
seriously,  Pietro,  I  am  afraid  it 's  no  place  for  an  honest 
girl  to  be  in." 

"  There  are  lots  of  honest  women  there,  —  all  our  men 
have  wives ;  and  our  captain  has  put  his  eye  on  one,  too, 
or  I  'm  mistaken." 

"What!  little  Agnes?"  said  Giulietta.  "He  will  be 
bright  that  gets  her.  That  old  dragon  of  a  grandmother  is 
as  tight  to  her  as  her  skin." 

"Our  captain  is  used  to  helping  himself,"  said  Pietro. 
"  We  might  carry  them  both  off  some  night,  and  no  one  the 
wiser  ;  but  he  seems  to  want  to  win  the  girl  to  come  to  him 
of  her  own  accord.  At  any  rate,  we  are  to  be  sent  back  to 
the  mountains  while  he  lingers  a  day  or  two  more  round 
here. 

"  I  declare,  Pietro,  I  think  you  all  little  better  than  Turks 
or  heathens,  to  talk  in  that  way  about  carrying  off  women ; 
and  what  if  one  should  be  sick  and  die  among  you  ?  What 
is  to  become  of  one's  soul,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  don't  we  have  priests  ?  Why,  Giulietta,  we  are 
all  very  pious,  and  never  think  of  going  out  without  saying 
our  prayers.  The  Madonna  is  a  kind  Mother,  and  will 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  91 

wink  very  hard  on  the  sins  of  such  good  sons  as  we  are. 
There  is  n't  a  place  in  all  Italy  where  she  is  kept  better  in 
candles,  and  in  rings  and  bracelets,  and  everything  a  woman 
could  want.  We  never  come  home  without  bringing  her 
something;  and  then  we  have  lots  left  to  dress  all  our 
women  like  princesses ;  and  they  have  nothing  to  do  from 
morning  till  night  but  play  the  lady.  Come  now  ?  " 

At  the  moment  this  conversation  was  going  on  in  the 
balmy,  seductive  evening  air  at  the  bridge,  another  was 
transpiring  in  the  Albergo  della  Torre,  one  of  those  dark, 
musty  dens  of  which  we  have  been  speaking.  In  a  damp, 
dirty  chamber,  whose  brick  floor  seemed  to  have  been  un 
suspicious  of  even  the  existence  of  brooms  for  centuries,  was 
sitting  the  cavalier  whom  we  have  so  often  named  in  con 
nection  with  Agnes.  His  easy,  high-bred  air,  his  graceful, 
flexible  form  and  handsome  face  formed  a  singular  contrast 
to  the  dark  and  mouldy  apartment,  at  whose  single  unglazed 
window  he  was  sitting.  The  sight  of  this  splendid  man  gave 
an  impression  of  strangeness,  in  the  general  bareness,  much 
as  if  some  marvellous  jewel  had  been  unaccountably  found 
lying  on  that  dusty  brick  floor. 

He  sat  deep  in  thought,  with  his  elbow  resting  on  a  rick 
ety  table,  his  large,  piercing  dark  eyes  seeming  intently  to 
study  the  pavement. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  gray-headed  old  man  entered, 
who  approached  him  respectfully. 

"  Well,  Paolo  ?  "  said  the  cavalier,  suddenly  starting. 

"  My  Lord,"  the  men  are  all  going  back  to-night." 

"  Let  them  go,  then,"  said  the  cavalier,  with  an  impatient 
movement.  "  I  can  follow  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  Ah,  my  Lord,  if  I  might  make  so  bold,  why  should  you 


92  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

expose  your  person  by  staying  longer  ?  You  may  be  recog 
nized  and  " 

"  No  danger,"  said  the  other,  hastily. 

"  My  Lord,  you  must  forgive  me,  but  I  promised  my  dear 
lady,  your  mother,  on  her  death-bed  " 

"  To  be  a  constant  plague  to  me,"  said  the  cavalier,  with  a 
vexed  smile  and  an  impatient  movement ;  "  but  speak  on, 
Paolo,  —  for  when  you  once  get  anything  on  your  mind,  one 
may  as  well  hear  it  first  as  last." 

"  Well,  then,  my  Lord,  this  girl,  —  I  have  made  inquiries, 
and  every  one  reports  her  most  modest  and  pious,  —  the 
only  grandchild  of  a  poor  old  woman.  Is  it  worthy  of  a 
great  lord  of  an  ancient  house  to  bring  her  to  shame  ?  " 

"  Who  thinks  of  bringing  her  to  shame  ?  *  Lord  of  an 
ancient  house'!"  added  the  cavalier,  laughing  bitterly, — 
"  a  landless  beggar,  cast  out  of  everything,  —  titles,  estates, 
all !  Am  I,  then,  fallen  so  low  that  my  wooing  would  dis 
grace  a  peasant-girl  ?  " 

"  My  Lord,  you  cannot  mean  to  woo  a  peasant-girl  in  any 
other  way^than  one  that  would  disgrace  her,  —  one  of  the 
.-,  House  of  Sarelli,  that  goes  back  to  the  days  of  the  old  Ro- 
*  'man  Empire  ! " 

"  And  what  of  the  '  House  of  Sarelli  that  goes  back  to  the 
days  of  the  old  Roman  Empire '  ?  It  is  lying  like  weeds' 
roots  uppermost  in  the  burning  sun.  What  is  left  to  me  but 
the  mountains  and  my  sword  ?  No,  I  tell  you,  Paolo,  Agos- 
tino  Sarelli,  cavalier  of  fortune,  is  not  thinking  of  bringing 
disgrace  on  a  pious  and  modest  maiden,  unless  it  would  dis 
grace  her  to  be  his  wife." 

"  Now  may  the  saints  above  help  us !  Why,  my  Lord, 
our  house  in  days  past  has  been  allied  to  royal  blood.  I 
could  tell  you  how  Joachim  VI." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  93 

"  Come,  come,  my  good  Paolo,  spare  me  one  of  your  chap 
ters  of  genealogy.  The  fact  is,  my  old  boy,  the  world  is  all 
topsy-turvy,  and  the  bottom  is  the  top,  and  it  is  n't  much 
matter  what  comes  next.  Here  are  shoals  of  noble  families 
uprooted  and  lying  round  like  those  aloes  that  the  gardener 
used  to  throw  over  the  wall  in  spring-time ;  and  there  is 
that  great  boar  of  a  Caesar  Borgia  turned  in  to  batten  and 
riot  over  our  pleasant  places." 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,"  said  the  old  serving-man,  with  a  distress 
ful  movement,  "  we  have  fallen  on  evil  times,  to  be  sure,  and 
they  say  his  Holiness  has  excommunicated  us.  Anselmo 
heard  that  in  Naples  yesterday." 

"  Excommunicated ! "  said  the  young  man,  —  every  fea 
ture  of  his  fine  face,  and  every  nerve  of  his  graceful  form 
seeming  to  quiver  with  the  effort  to  express  supreme  con 
tempt.  "  Excommunicated !  I  should  hope  so  !  One  would 
hope  through  Our  Lady's  grace  to  act  so  that  Alexander, 
and  his  adulterous,  incestuous,  filthy,  false-swearing,  per 
jured,  murderous  crew,  would  excommunicate  us  !  In  these 
times,  one's  only  hope  of  paradise  lies  in  being  excommuni 
cated." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  master,"  said  the  old  man,  falling  on  his  * 
knees,  "  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?     That  I  should  live   to 
hear  you  talk  like  an  infidel  and  unbeliever !  " 

"  Why,  hear  you,  poor  old  fool !  Did  you  never  hear  in 
Dante  of  the  Popes  that  are  burning  in  hell  ?  Was  n't  Dante 
a  Christian,  I  beg  to  know  ? " 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,  my  Lord !  a  religion  got  out  of  poetry, 
books,  and  romances  won't  do  to  die  by.  We  have  no  busi 
ness  with  the  affairs  of  the  Head  of  the  Church,  —  it 's  the 
Lord's  appointment.  We  have  only  to  shut  our  eyes  and 
obey.  It  may  all  do  well  enough  to  talk  so  when  you  are 


94  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

young  and  fresh  ;  but  when  sickness  and  death  come,  then 
we  must  have  religion,  —  and  if  we  have  gone  out  of  the 
only  true  Roman  Catholic  Apostolic  Church,  what  becomes 
of  our  souls  ?  Ah,  I  misdoubted  about  your  taking  so  much 
to  poetry,  though  my  poor  mistress  was  so  proud  of  it ;  but 
these  poets  are  all  heretics,  my  Lord,  —  that 's  my  firm  be 
lief.  But,  my  Lord,  if  you  do  go  to  hell,  I  'm  going  there 
with  you  ;  I  'm  sure  I  never  could  show  my  face  among  the 
saints,  and  you  not  there." 

"  Well,  come,  then,  my  poor  Paolo,"  said  the  cavalier, 
stretching  out  his  hand  to  his  serving-man,  "don't  take  it  to 
heart  so.  "Many  a  better  man  than  I  has  been  excommuni 
cated  and  cursed  from  toe  to  crown,  and  been  never  a  whit 
the  worse  for  it.  There 's  Jerome  Savonarola  there  in  Flor 
ence  —  a  most  holy  man,  they  say,  who  has  had  revelations 
straight  from  heaven  —  has  been  excommunicated;  but  he 
preaches  and  gives  the  sacraments  all  the  same,  and  nobody 
minds  it." 

"  Well,  it 's  all  a  maze  to  me,"  said  the  old  serving-man, 
shaking  his  white  head.  "  I  can't  see  into  it.  I  don't  dare 
to  open  my  eyes  for  fear  I  should  get  to  be  a  heretic ;  it 
seems  to  me  that  everything  is  getting  mixed  up  together. 
But  one  must  hold  on  to  one's  religion ;  because,  after  we 
have  lost  everything  in  this  world,  it  would  be  too  bad  to 
burn  in  hell  forever  at  the  end  of  that." 

"  Why,  Paolo,  I  am  a  good  Christian.  I  believe,  with  all 
my  heart,  in  the  Christian  religion,  like  the  fellow  in  Boc 
caccio,  —  because  I  think  it  must  be  from  God,  or  else  the 
Popes  and  Cardinals  would  have  had  it  out  of  the  world 
long  ago.  Nothing  but  the  Lord  Himself  could  have  kept 
it  against  them." 

"  There  you  are,  my  dear  master,  with  your  romances ! 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  95 

Well,  well,  well !  I  don't  know  how  it  '11  end.  I  say  my 
prayers,  and  try  not  to  inquire  into  what 's  too  high  for  me. 
But  now,  dear  master,  will  you  stay  lingering  after  this  girl 
till  some  of  our  enemies  hear  where  you  are  and  pounce 
down  upon  us  ?  Besides,  the  troop  are  never  so  well  affect 
ed  when  you  are  away;  there  are  quarrels  and  divisions." 

"  "Well,  well,"  said  the  cavalier,  with  an  impatient  move 
ment, —  "one  day  longer.  I  must  get  a  chance  to  speak 
with  her  once  more.  I  must  see  her." 


96  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    ARTIST    MONK. 

ON  the  evening  when  Agnes  and  her  grandmother  re 
turned  from  the  Convent,  as  they  were  standing  after  supper 
looking  over  the  garden  parapet  into  the  gorge,  their  atten 
tion  was  caught  by  a  man  in  an  ecclesiastical  habit,  slowly 
climbing  the  rocky  pathway  towards  them. 

"  Is  n't  that  brother  Antonio  ?  "  said  Dame  Elsie,  leaning 
forward  to  observe  more  narrowly.  "  Yes,  to  be  sure  it  is  ! " 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am ! "  exclaimed  Agnes,  springing  up 
with  vivacity,  and  looking  eagerly  down  the  path  by  which 
the  stranger  was  approaching. 

A  few  moments  more  of  clambering,  and  the  stranger  met 
the  two  women  at  the  gate  with  a  gesture  of  benediction. 

He  was  apparently  a  little  past  the  middle  point  of  life, 
and  entering  on  its  shady  afternoon.  He  was  tall  and 
well  proportioned,  and  his  features  had  the  spare  delicacy 
of  the  Italian  outline.  The  round  brow,  fully  developed  in 
all  the  perceptive  and  aesthetic  regions,  —  the  keen  eye, 
shadowed  by  long,  dark  lashes,  —  the  thin,  flexible  lips,  — 
the  sunken  cheek,  where,  on  the  slightest  emotion,  there 
fluttered  a  brilliant  flush  of  color,  —  all  were  signs  telling 
of  the  enthusiast  in  whom  the  nervous  and  spiritual  pre 
dominated  over  the  animal. 

At  times,  his  eye  had  a  dilating  brightness,  as  if  from  the 
flickering  of  some  inward  fire  which  was  slowly  consuming 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  97 

the  mortal  part,  and  its  expression  was  brilliant  even  to  the 
verge  of  insanity. 

His  dress  was  the  simple,  coarse,  white  stuff-gown  of  the 
Dominican  friars,  over  which  he  wore  a  darker  travelling- 
garment  of  coarse  cloth,  with  a  hood,  from  whose  deep 
shadows  his  bright  mysterious  eyes  looked  like  jewels 
from  a  cavern.  At  his  side  dangled  a  great  rosary  and 
cross  of  black  wood,  and  under  his  arm  he  carried  a  port 
folio  secured  with  a  leathern  strap,  which  seemed  stuffed  to 
bursting  with  papers. 

Father  Antonio,  whom  we'  have  thus  introduced  to  the 
reader,  was  an  itinerant  preaching  monk  from  the  Convent 
of  San  Marco  in  Florence,  on  a  pastoral  and  artistic  tour 
through  Italy. 

Convents  in  the  Middle  Ages  were  the  retreats  of  mul 
titudes  of  natures  who  did  not  wish  to  live  in  a  state  of 
perpetual  warfare  and  offence,  and  all  the  elegant  arts  flour 
ished  under  their  protecting  shadows.  Ornamental  garden 
ing,  pharmacy,  drawing,  painting,  carving  in  wood,  illumina 
tion,  and  calligraphy  were  not  unfrequent  occupations  of  the 
holy  fathers,  and  the  convent  has  given  to  the  illustrious  roll 
of  Italian  Art  some  of  its  most  brilliant  names.  No  institu 
tion  in  modern  Europe  had  a  more  established  reputation  in 
all  these  respects  than  the  Convent  of  San  Marco  in  Flor 
ence.  In  its  best  days,  it  was  as  near  an  approach  to  an 
ideal  community,  associated  to  unite  religion,  beauty,  and 
utility,  as  ever  has  existed  on  earth.  It  was  a  retreat  from 
the  commonplace  prose  of  life  into  an  atmosphere  at  once 
devotional  and  poetic ;  and  prayers  and  sacred  hymns  con 
secrated  the  elegant  labors  of  the  chisel  and  the  pencil,  no 
less  than  the  more  homely  ones  of  the  still  and  the  crucible. 
San  Marco,  far  from  being  that  kind  of  sluggish  lagoon  ofter 


98  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

imagined  in  conventual  life,  was  rather  a  sheltered  hot-bed 
of  ideas,  —  fervid  with  intellectual,  and  moral  energy,  and 
before  the  age  in  every  radical  movement.  At  this  pe 
riod,  Savonarola,  the  poet  and  prophet  of  the  Italian  re 
ligious  world  of  his  day,  was  superior  of  this  convent, 
pouring  through  all  the  members  of  the  order  the  fire  of 
his  own  impassioned  nature,  and  seeking  to  lead  them  back 
to  the  fervors  of  more  primitive  and  evangelical  ages,  and 
in  the  reaction  of  a  worldly  and  corrupt  Church  was  begin 
ning  to  feel  the  power  of  that  current  which  at  last  drowned 
his  eloquent  voice  in  the  cold  waters  of  martyrdom.  Sa 
vonarola  was  an  Italian  Luther,  —  differing  from  the  great 
Northern  Reformer  as  the  more  ethereally  strung  and  ner 
vous  Italian  differs  from  the  bluff  and  burly  German;  and 
like  Luther  he  became  in  his  time  the  centre  of  every  liv 
ing  thing  in  society  about  him.  He  inspired  the  pencils  of 
artists,  guided  the  counsels  of  statesmen,  and,  a  poet  himself, 
was  an  inspiration  to  poets.  Everywhere  in  Italy  the  monks 
of  his  order  were  travelling,  restoring  the  shrines,  preaching 
against  the  voluptuous  and  unworthy  pictures  with  which 
sensual  artists  had  desecrated  the  churches,  and  calling  the 
people  back  by  their  exhortations  to  the  purity  of  primitive 
Christianity. 

Father  Antonio  was  a  younger  brother  of  Elsie,  and  had 
early  become  a  member  of  the  San  Marco,  enthusiastic  not 
less  in  religion  than  in  Art.  His  intercourse  with  his  sister 
had  few  points  of  sympathy,  Elsie  being  as  decided  a  util 
itarian  as  any  old  Yankee  female  born  in  the  granite  hills 
of  New  Hampshire,  and  pursuing  with  a  hard  and  sharp 
energy  her  narrow  plan  of  life  for  Agnes.  She  regarded 
her  brother  as  a  very  properly  religious  person,  considering 
his  calling,  but  was  a  little  bored  with  his  exuberant  devotion, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  99 

and  absolutely  indifferent  to  his  artistic  enthusiasm.  Agnes, 
on  the  contrary,  had  from  a  child  attached  herself  to  her 
uncle  with  all  the  energy  of  a  sympathetic  nature,  and  his 
yearly  visits  had  been  looked  forward  to  on  her  part  with 
intense  expectation.  To  him  she  could,  say  a  thousand  things 
which  she  instinctively  concealed  from  her  grandmother ; 
and  Elsie  was  well  pleased  with  the  confidence,  because  it 
relieved  her  a  little  from  the  vigilant  guardianship  that  she 
otherwise  held  over  the  girl.  When  Father  Antonio  was 
near,  she  had  leisure  now  and  then  for  a  little  private  gossip 
of  her  own,  without  the  constant  care  of  supervising  Agnes. 

"  Dear  uncle,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  once  more ! "  was 
the  eager  salutation  with  which  the  young  girl  received  the 
monk,  as  he  gained  the  little  garden.  "  And  you  have 
brought  your  pictures ;  —  oh,  I  know  you  have  so  many 
pretty  things  to  show  me ! " 

"Well,  well,  child,"  said  Elsie,  "don't  begin  upon  that 
now.  A  little  talk  of  bread  and  cheese  will  be  more  in 
point.  Come  in,  brother,  and  wash  your  feet,  and  let  me 
beat  the  dust  out  of  your  cloak,  and  give  you  something  to 
stay  Nature ;  for  you  must  be  fasting." 

"  Thank  you,  sister,"  said  the  monk ;  "  and  as  for  you, 
pretty  one,  never  mind  what  she  says.  Uncle  Antonio  will 
show  his  little  Agnes  everything  by-and-by.  —  A  good  little 
thing  it  is,  sister." 

"  Yes,  yes,  —  good  enough,  —  and  too  good,"  said  Elsie, 
bustling  about ;  — "  roses  can't  help  having  thorns,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  Only  our  ever-blessed  Rose  of  Sharon,  the  dear  mysti 
cal  Rose  of  Paradise,  can  boast  of  having  no  thorns,"  said 
the  monk,  bowing  and  crossing  himself  devoutly. 

Agnes  clasped  her  hands  on  her  bosom  and  bowed  also, 


100  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

while  Elsie  stopped  with  her  knife  in  the  middle  of  a  loaf 
of  black  bread,  and  crossed  herself  with  somewhat  of  impa 
tience,  —  like  a  worldly-minded  person  of  our  day,  who  is 
interrupted  in  the  midst  of  an  observation  by  a  grace. 

After  the  rites  of  hospitality  had  been  duly  observed,  the 
old  dame  seated  herself  contentedly  in  her  door  with  her 
distaff,  resigned  Agnes  to  the  safe  guardianship  of  her 
uncle,  and  had  a  feeling  of  security  in  seeing  them  sitting 
together  on  the  parapet  of  the  garden,  with  the  portfolio 
spread  out  between  them,  —  the  warm  twilight  glow  of  the 
evening  sky  lighting  up  their  figures  as  they  bent  in  ardent 
interest  over  its  contents.  The  portfolio  showed  a  flutter 
ing  collection  of  sketches,  —  fruits,  flowers,  animals,  insects, 
faces,  figures,  shrines,  buildings,  trees, —  all,  in  short,  that 
might  strike  the  mind  of  a  man  to  whose  eye  nothing  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  is  without  beauty  and  significance. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful ! "  said  the  girl,  taking  up  one  sketch, 
in  which  a  bunch  of  ros^  cyclamen  was  painted  rising  out  of 
a  bed  of  moss. 

"  Ah,  that  indeed,  my  dear  !  "  said  the  artist.  "  Would 
you  had  seen  the  place  where  I  painted  it !  I  stopped 
there  to  recite  my  prayers  one  morning ;  't  was  by  the  side 
of  a  beautiful  cascade,  and  all  the  ground  was  covered  with 
these  lovely  cyclamens,  and  the  air  was  musky  with  their 
fragrance.  —  Ah,  the  bright  rose-colored  leaves  !  I  can  get 
no  color  like  them,  unless  some  angel  would  bring  me  some 
from  those  sunset  clouds  yonder." 

"  And  oh,  dear  uncle,  what  lovely  primroses !  "  pursued 
Agnes,  taking  up  another  paper. 

"  Yes,  child ;  but  you  should  have  seen  them  when  I  was 
coming  down  the  south  side  of  the  Apennines  ;  —  these  were 
everywhere  so  pale -and  sweet,  they  seemed  like  the  humil- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  101 

ity  of  our  Most  Blessed  Mother  in  her  lowly  mortal  state. 
I  am  minded  to  make  a  border  of  primroses  to  the  leaf  in 
the  Breviary  where  is  the  *  Hail,  Mary  ! '  —  for  it  seems  as 
if  that  flower  doth  ever  say,  '  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the 
Lord ! ' " 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  the  cyclamen,  uncle  ?  does 
not  that  mean  something  !  " 

"  Yes,  daughter,"  replied  the  monk,  readily  entering  into 
that  symbolical  strain  which  permeated  all  the  heart  and 
mind  of  the  religious  of  his  day,  —  "I  can  see  a  meaning 
in  it.  For  you  see  that  the  cyclamen  puts  forth  its  leaves  in 
early  spring  deeply  engraven  with  mystical  characters,  and 
loves  cool  shadows,  and  moist,  dark  places,  but  comes  at 
length  to  wear  a  royal  crown  of  crimson ;  and  it  seems  to 
me  like  the  saints  who  dwell  in  convents  and  other  prayer 
ful  places,  and  have  the  word  of  God  graven  in  their  hearts 
in  youth,  till  these  blossom  into  fervent  love,  and  they  are 
crowned  with  royal  graces." 

"  Ah  ! "  sighed  Agnes,  "  how  beautiful  and  how  blessed  to 
be  among  such  ! " 

"  Thou  sayest  well,  dear  child.  Blessed  are  the  flowers 
of  God  that  grow  in  cool  solitudes,  and  have  never  been  pro 
faned  by  the  hot  sun  and  dust  of  this  world  !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  be  such  a  one,"  said  Agnes.  "  I  often 
think,  when  I  visit  the  sisters  at  the  Convent,  that  I  long 
to  be  one  of  them." 

"  A  pretty  story ! "  said  Dame  Elsie,  who  had  heard  the 
last  words,  —  "  go  into  a  convent  and  leave  your  poor  grand 
mother  all  alone,  when  she  has  toiled  night  and  day  for  so 
many  years  to  get  a  dowry  for  you  and  find  you  a  worthy 
husband  ! " 

"  I  don't  want  any  husband  in  this  world,  grandmamma," 
said  Agnes. 


102  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


u  What  talk  is  this  ?  Not  want  a  good  husband  to  take 
care  of  you  when  your  poor  old  grandmother  is  gone  ?  Who 
will  provide  for  you  ?  " 

u  He  who  took  care  of  the  blessed  Saint  Agnes,  grand 
mamma." 

**  Saint  Agnes,  to  be  sure !  That  was  a  great  many 
years  ago,  and  times  have  altered  since  then ;  —  in  these 
days  girls  must  have  husbands.  Is  n't  it  so,  brother  An 
tonio  ?  " 

"  But  if  the  darling  hath  a  vocation  ? "  said  the  artist, 
mildly. 

"  Vocation  !  I  '11  see  to  that !  She  sha'n't  have  a  voca 
tion  !  Suppose  I  'm  going  to  delve,  and  toil,  and  spin,  and 
wear  myself  to  the  bone,  and  have  her  slip  through  my 
fingers  at  last  with  a  vocation  ?  No,  indeed  ! " 

"  Indeed,  dear  grandmother,  don't  be  angry ! "  said  Ag 
nes.  "  I  will  do  just  as  you  say,  —  only  I  don't  want  a 
husband." 

"  Well,  well,  my  little  heart,  —  one  thing  at  a  time  ;  you 
sha'n't  have  him  till  you  say  yes  willingly,"  said  Elsie,  in  a 
mollified  tone. 

Agnes  turned  again  to  the  portfolio  and  busied  herself 
with  it,  her  eyes  dilating  as  she  ran  over  the  sketches. 

"Ah!   what  pretty,  pretty  bird  is  this?"  she  asked. 

"  Knowest  thou  not  that  bird,  with  his  little  red  beak  ?  " 
said  the  artist.  "  When  our  dear  Lord  hung  bleeding,  and 
no  man  pitied  him,  this  bird,  filled  with  tender  love,  tried  to 
draw  out  the  nails  with  his  poor  little  beak,  —  so  much  bet 
ter  were  the  birds  than  we  hard-hearted  sinners !  —  hence 
he  hath'  honor  in  many  pictures.  See  here,  —  I  shall  put 
him  into  the  office  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  in  a  little  nest  curi 
ously  built  in  a  running  vine  of  passion-flower.  See  here, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  103 

daughter,  —  I  have  a  great  commission  to  execute  a  Brev 
iary  for  our  house,  and  our  holy  Father  was  pleased  to  say 
that  the  spirit  of  the  blessed  Angelico  had  in  some  little 
humble  measure  descended  on  me,  and  now  I  am  busy 
day  and  night ;  for  not  a  twig  rustles,  not  a  bird  flies, 
nor  a  flower  blossoms,  but  I  .begin  to  see  therein  some 
hint  of  holy  adornment  to  my  blessed  work." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Antonio,  how  happy  you  must  be ! "  said 
Agnes,  —  her  large  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  Happy  !  —  child,  am  I  not  ?  "  said  the  monk,  looking 
up  and  crossing  himself.  "  Holy  Mother,  am  I  not  ?  Do 
I  not  walk  the  earth  in  a  dream  of  bliss,  and  see  the  foot 
steps  of  my  Most  Blessed  Lord  and  his  dear  Mother  on 
every  rock  and  hill  ?  I  see  the  flowers  rise  up  in  clouds  to 
adore  them.  What  am  I,  unworthy  sinner,  that  such  grace 
is  granted  me  ?  Often  I  fall  on  my  face  before  the  humblest 
flower  where  my  dear  Lord  hath  written  his  name,  and  con 
fess  I  am  unworthy  the  honor  of  copying  his  sweet  handi 
work." 

The  artist  spoke  these  words  with  his  hands  clasped  and 
his  fervid  eyes  upraised,  like  a  man  in  an  ecstasy ;  nor  can 
our  more  prosaic  English  give  an  idea  of  the  fluent  natural 
ness  and  grace  with  which  such  images  melt  into  that  lovely 
tongue  which  seems  made  to  be  the  natural  language  of 
poetry  and  enthusiasm. 

Agnes  looked  up  to  him  with  humble  awe,  as  to  some 
celestial  being ;  but  there  was  a  sympathetic  glow  in  her  face, 
and  she  put  her  hands  on  her  bosom,  as  her  manner  often 
was  when  much  moved,  and,  drawing  a  deep  sigh,  said,  — 

"  Would  that  such  gifts  were  mine  !  " 

"  They  are  thine,  sweet  one,"  said  the  monk.  "  In 
Christ's  dear  kingdom  is  no  mine  or  thine,  but  all  that 


104  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

each  hath  is  the  property  of  others.  I  never  rejoice  sft 
much  in  my  art  as  when  I  think  of  the  communion  of 
saints,  and  that  all  that  our  Blessed  Lord  will  work  through 
me  is  the  property  of  the  humblest  soul  in  his  kingdom. 
When  I  see  one  flower  rarer  than  another,  or  a  bird  sing 
ing  on  a  twig,  I  take  note  of  the  same,  and  say, '  This  lovely 
work  of  God  shall  be  for  some  shrine,  or  the  border  of  a 
missal,  or  the  foreground  of  an  altar-piece,  and  thus  shall 
his  saints  be  comforted.' " 

"  But,"  said  Agnes,  fervently,  "  how  little  can  a  poor 
young  maiden  do  !  Ah,  I  do  so  long  to  offer  myself  up 
in  some  way  to  the  dear  Lord,  who  gave  himself  for  us,  and 
for  his  Most  Blessed  Church  !  " 

As  Agnes  spoke  these  words,  her  cheek,  usually  so  clear 
and  pale,  became  suffused  with  a  tremulous  color,  and  her 
dark  eyes  had  a  deep,  divine  expression  ;  —  a  moment  after, 
the  color  slowly  faded,  her  head  drooped,  and  her  long,  dark 
lashes  fell  on  her  cheek,  while  her  hands  were  folded  on  her 
bosom.  The  eye  of  the  monk  was  watching  her  with  an 
enkindled  glance. 

"  Is  she  not  the  very  presentment  of  our  Blessed  Lady 
in  the  Annunciation  ?  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  Surely,  this 
grace  is  upon  her  for  this  special  purpose.  My  prayers  are 
answered. 

"  Daughter,"  he  began,  in  a  gentle  tone,  "  a  glorious  work 
has  been  done  of  late  in  Florence  under  the  preaching  of 
our  blessed  Superior.  Could  you  believe  it,  daughter,  in 
these  times  of  backsliding  and  rebuke  there  have  been 
found  painters  base  enough  to  paint  the  pictures  of  vile, 
abandoned  women  in  the  character  of  our  Blessed  Lady  ; 
yea,  and  princes  have  been  found  wicked  enough  to  buy 
them  and  put  them  up  in  churches,  so  that  the  people  have 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  105 

had  the  Mother  of  all  Purity  presented  to  them  in  the  guise 
of  a  vile  harlot.  Is  it  not  dreadful  ?  " 

"  How  horrible  ! "  said  Agnes. 

"Ah,  but  you  should  have  seen  the  great  procession 
through  Florence,  when  all  the  little  children  were  in 
spired  by  the  heavenly  preaching  of  our  dear  Master. 
These  dear  little  ones,  carrying  the  blessed  cross  and  sing 
ing  the  hymns  our  Master  had  written  for  them,  went  from 
house  to  house  and  church  to  church,  demanding  that  every 
thing  that  was  vile  and  base  should  be  delivered  up  to  the 
flames,  —  and  the  people,  beholding,  thought  that  the  angels 
had  indeed  come  down,  and  brought  forth  all  their  loose  pic 
tures  and  vile  books,  such  as  Boccaccio's  romances  and  other 
defilements,  and  the  children  made  a  splendid  bonfire  of 
them  in  the  Grand  Piazza,  and  so  thousands  of  vile  things 
were  consumed  and  scattered.  And  then  our  blessed  Master 
exhorted  the  artists  to  give  their  pencils  to  Christ  and  his 
Mother,  and  to  seek  for  her  image  among  pious  and  holy 
women  living  a  veiled  and  secluded  life,  like  that  our  Lady 
lived  before  the  blessed  Annunciation.  '  Think  you,'  he  said, 
'that  the  blessed  Angelico  obtained  the  grace  to  set  forth 
our  Lady  in  such  heavenly  wise  by  gazing  about  the  streets 
on  mincing  women  tricked  out  in  all  the  world's  bravery  ?  — 
or  did  he  not  find  her  image  in  holy  solitudes,  among  modest 
and  prayerful  saints  ? ' ' 

"Ah,"  said  Agnes,  drawing  in  her  breath  with  an  ex 
pression  of  awe,  "  what  mortal  would  dare  to  sit  for  the 
image  of  our  Lady  !  " 

"  Dear  child,  there  be  women  whom  the  Lord  crowns  with 

beauty  when  they  know  it  not,  and  our  dear  Mother  sheds 

so  much  of  her  spirit  into  their  hearts  that  it  shines  out  in 

their  faces ;  and  among  such  must  the  painter  look.     Dear 

5* 


106  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

little  child,  be  not  ignorant  that  our  Lord  hath  shed  this  great 
grace  on  thee.  I  have  received  a  light  that  thou  art  to  be 
the  model  for  the  '  Hail  Mary ! '  in  my  Breviary."* 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no  !  it  cannot  be !  "  said  Agnes,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

"  My  daughter,  thou  art  very  beautiful,  and  this  beauty 
was  given  thee  not  for  thyself,  but  to  be  laid  like  a  sweet 
flower  on  the  altar  of  thy  Lord.  Think  how  blessed,  if, 
through  thee,  the  faithful  be  reminded  of  the  modesty  and 
humility  of  Mary,  so  that  their  prayers  become  more  fervent, 
—  would  it  not  be  a  great  grace  ?  " 

"  Dear  uncle,"  said  Agnes,  "  I  am  Christ's  child.  If  it  be 
as  you  say,  —  which  I  did  not  know,  —  give  me  some  days 
to  pray  and  prepare  my  soul,  that  I  may  offer  myself  in  all 
humility." 

During  this  conversation  Elsie  had  left  the  garden  and 
gone  a  little  way  down  the  gorge,  to  have  a  few  moments  of 
gossip  with  an  old  crony.  The  light  of  the  evening  sky  had 
gradually  faded  away,  and  the  full  moon  was  pouring  a 
shower  of  silver  upon  the  orange-trees.  As  Agnes  sat  on  the 
parapet,  with  the  moonlight  streaming  down  on  her  young, 
spiritual  face,  now  tremulous  with  deep  suppressed  emotion, 
the  painter  thought  he  had  never  seen  any  human  creature 
that  looked  nearer  to  his  conception  of  a  celestial  being. 

They  both  sat  awhile  in  that  kind  of  quietude  which  often 
falls  between  two  who  have  stirred  some  deep  fountain  of 
emotion.  All  was  so  still  around  them,  that  the  drip  and 
trickle  of  the  little  stream  which  fell  from  the  garden  wall 
into  the  dark  abyss  of  the  gorge  could  well  be  heard  as  it 
pattered  from  one  rocky  point  to  another,  with  a  slender, 
lulling  sound. 

Suddenly  the  reveries  of  the  two  were  disturbed  by  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  107 

shadow  of  a  figure  which  passed  into  the  moonlight  and 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  side  of  the  gorge.  A  man  envel 
oped  in  a  dark  cloak  with  a  peaked  hood  stepped  across  the 
moss-grown  garden  parapet,  stood  a  moment  irresolute,  then 
the  cloak  dropped  suddenly  from  him,  and  the  cavalier  stood 
in  the  moonlight  before  Agnes.  He  bore  in  his  hand  a  tall 
stalk  of  white  lily,  with  open  blossoms  and  buds  and  tender 
fluted  green  leaves,  such  as  one  sees  in  a  thousand  pictures  of 
the  Annunciation.  The  moonlight  fell  full  upon  his  face,  re 
vealing  his  haughty  yet  beautiful  features,  agitated  by  some 
profound  emotion.  The  monk  and  the  girl  were  both  too 
much  surprised  for  a  moment  to  utter  a  sound  ;  and  when, 
after  an  instant,  the  monk  made  a  half-movement  as  if  to 
address  him,  the  cavalier  raised  his  right  hand  with  a  sudden 
authoritative  gesture  which  silenced  him.  Then  turning 
toward  Agnes,  he  kneeled,  and  kissing  the  hem  of  her  robe, 
and  laying  the  lily  in  her  lap,  "  Holiest  and  dearest,"  he  said, 
"  oh,  forget  not  to  pray  for  me  ! "  He  rose  again  in  a 
moment,  and,  throwing  his  cloak  around  him,  'sprang  over 
the  garden  wall,  and  was  heard  rapidly  descending  into  the 
shadows  of  the  gorge. 

All  this  passed  so  quickly  that  it  seemed  to  both  the  spec 
tators  like  a  dream.  The  splendid  man,  with  his  jewelled 
weapons,  his  haughty  bearing,  and  air  of  easy  command, 
bowing  with  such  solemn  humility  before  the  peasant-girl,  re 
minded  the  monk  of  the  barbaric  princes  in  the  wonderful 
legends  he  had  read,  who  had  been  drawn  by  some  heavenly 
inspiration  to  come  and  render  themselves  up  to  the  teach 
ings  of  holy  virgins,  chosen  of  the  Lord,  in  divine  solitudes. 
In  the  poetical  world  in  which  he  lived  all  such  marvels 
were  possible.  There  were  a  thousand  precedents  for  them 
in  that  devout  dream-land,  "  The  Lives  of  the  Saints." 


108  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  after  looking  vainly  down  the 
dark  shadows  upon  the  path  of  the  stranger,  "  have  you 
ever  seen  this  man  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle ;  yesterday  evening  I  saw  him  for  the  first 
time,  when  sitting  at  my  stand  at  the  gate  of  the  city.  It 
was  at  the  Ave  Maria;  he  came  up  there  and  asked  my 
prayers,  and  gave  me  a  diamond  ring  for  the  shrine  of 
Saint  Agnes,  which  I  carried  to  the  convent  to-day." 

"  Behold,  my  dear  daughter,  the  confirmation  of  what  I 
have  just  said  to  thee !  It  is  evident  that  our  Lady  hath 
endowed  thee  with  the  great  grace  of  a  beauty  which  draws 
the  soul  upward  towards  the  angels,  instead  of  downward  to 
sensual  things,  like  the  beauty  of  worldly  women.  What  saith 
the  blessed  poet  Dante  of  the  beauty  of  the  holy  Beatrice  ?  — 
that  it  said  to  every  man  who  looked  on  her,  *  Aspire ! ' l 
Great  is  the  grace,  and  thou  must  give  special  praise  there 
for." 

"  I  would,"  said  Agnes,  thoughtfully,  "  that  I  knew  who 

1  I  cannot  forbear  quoting  Mr.  Norton's  beautiful  translation  of  this 
sonnet  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  February,  1859 :  — 

"  So  gentle  and  so  modest  doth  appear 
My  lady  when  she  giveth  her  salute, 
That  every  tongue  becometh  trembling  mute 
Nor  do  the  eyes  to  look  upon  her  dare. 
And  though  she  hears  her  praises,  she  doth  go 
Benignly  clothed  with  humility, 
And  like  a  thing  come  down  she  seems  to  be 
From  heaven  to  earth,  a  miracle  to  show. 
So  pleaseth  she  whoever  cometh  nigh  her, 
She  gives  the  heart  a  sweetness  through  the  eyes 
Which  none  can  understand  who  doth  not  prove. 
And  from  her  lip  there  seems  indeed  to  move 
A  spirit  sweet  and  in  Love's  very  guise, 
Which  goeth  saying  to  the  soul,  '  Aspire ! '  " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  109 

this  stranger  is,  and  what  is  his  great  trouble  and  need, — 
his  eyes  are  so  full  of  sorrow.  Giulietta  said  he  was  the 
King's  brother,  and  was  called  the  Lord  Adrian.  What 
sorrow  can  he  have,  or  what  need  for  the  prayers  of  a  poor 
maid  like  me  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  the  Lord  hath  pierced  him  with  a  longing  after 
the  celestial  beauty  and  heavenly  purity  of  paradise,  and 
wounded  him  with  a  divine  sorrow,  as  happened  to  Saint 
Francis  and  to  the  blessed  Saint  Dominic,"  said  the  monk. 
"  Beauty  is  the  Lord's  arrow,  wherewith  he  pierceth  to  the 
inmost  soul,  with  a  divine  longing  and  languishment  which 
find  rest  only  in  him.  Hence  thou  seest  the  wounds  of  love 
in  saints  are  always  painted  by  us  with  holy  flames  as 
cending  from  them.  Have  good  courage,  sweet  child,  and 
pray  with  fervor  for  this  youth;  for  there  be  no  prayers 
sweeter  before  the  throne  of  God  than  those  of  spotless 
maidens.  The  Scripture  saith,  '  My  beloved  feedeth  among 
the  lilies.'" 

At  this  moment  the  sharp,  decided  tramp  of  Elsie  was 
heard  reentering  the  garden. 

"  Come,  Agnes,"  she  said,  "  it  is  time  for  you  to  begin  your 
prayers,  or,  the  saints  know,  I  shall  not  get  you  to  bed  till 
midnight.  I  suppose  prayers  are  a  good  thing,"  she  added, 
seating  herself  wearily  ;  "  but  if  one  must  have  so  many  of 
them,  one  must  get  about  them  early.  There  's  reason  in 
all  things." 

Agnes,  who  had  been  sitting  abstractedly  on  the  parapet, 
with  her  head  drooped  over  the  lily-spray,  now  seemed  to 
collect  herself.  She  rose  up  in  a  grave  and  thoughtful  man 
ner,  and,  going  forward  to  the  shrine  of  the  Madonna,  re 
moved  the  flowers  of  the  morning,  and  holding  the  vase 
under  the  spout  of  the  fountain,  all  feathered  with  waving 


110  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

maiden -hair,  filled  it  with  fresh  water,  the  drops  falling  from 
it  in  a  thousand  little  silver  rings  in  the  moonlight. 

"  I  have  a  thought,"  said  the  monk  to  himself,  drawing 
from  his  girdle  a  pencil  and  hastily  sketching  by  the  moon 
light.  What  he  drew  was  a  fragile  maiden  form,  sitting 
with  clasped  hands  on  a  mossy  ruin,  gazing  on  a  spray  of 
white  lilies  which  lay  before  her.  He  called  it,  The  Blessed 
Virgin  pondering  the  Lily  of  the  Annunciation. 

u  Hast  thou  ever  reflected,"  he  said  to  Agnes,  "  what  that 
lily  might  be  like  which  the  angel  Gabriel  brought  to  our 
Lady  ?  —  for,  trust  me,  it  was  no  mortal  flower,  but  grew  by 
the  river  of  life.  I  have  often  meditated  thereon,  that  it  was 
like  unto  living  silver  with  a  light  in  itself,  like  the  moon,  — 
even  as  our  Lord's  garments  in  the  Transfiguration,  which 
glistened  like  the  snow.  I  have  cast  about  in  myself  by 
what  device  a  painter  might  represent  so  marvellous  a 
flower." 

"  Now,  brother  Antonio,"  said  Elsie,  "  if  you  begin  to 
talk  to  the  child  about  such  matters,  our  Lady  alone  knows 
when  we  shall  get  to  bed.  I  am  sure  I  'm  as  good  a  Chris 
tian  as  anybody ;  but,  as  I  said,  there  's  reason  in  all  things, 
and  one  cannot  always  be  wondering  and  inquiring  into 
heavenly  matters,  —  as  to  every  feather  in  Saint  Michael's 
wings,  and  as  to  our  Lady's  girdle  and  shoestrings  and  thim 
ble  and  work-basket ;  and  when  one  gets  through  with  our 
Lady,  then  one  has  it  all  to  go  over  about  her  mother,  the 
blessed  Saint  Anne  (may  her  name  be  ever  praised  !).  I 
mean  no  disrespect,  but  I  am  certain  the  saints  are  reason 
able  folk  and  must  see  that  poor  folk  must  live,  and,  in 
order  to  live,  must  think  of  something  else  now  and  then 
besides  them.  .  That 's  my  mind,  brother." 

"Well,  well,  sister,"  said  the  monk  placidly,  "no  doubt 


AGNES  OF  SORKENTO.  Ill 

you  are  right.  There  shall  be  no  quarrelling  in  the  Lord's 
vineyard ;  every  one  hath  his  manner  and  place,  and  you 
follow  the  lead  of  the  blessed  Saint  Martha,  which  is  holy 
and  honorable." 

"  Honorable !  I  should  think  it  might  be  ! "  said  Elsie. 
"  I  warrant  me,  if  everything  had  been  left  to  Saint  Mary's 
doings,  our  Blessed  Lord  and  the  Twelve  Apostles  might 
have  gone  supperless.  But  it 's  Martha  gets  all  the  work, 
and  Mary  all  the  praise." 

"Quite  right,  quite  right,"  said,  the  monk,  abstractedly, 
while  he  stood  out  in  the  moonlight  busily  sketching  the 
fountain.  By  just  such  a  fountain,  he  thought,  our  Lady 
might  have  washed  the  clothes  of  the  Blessed  Babe.  Doubt 
less  there  was  some  such  in  the  court  of  her  dwelling,  all 
mossy,  and  with  sweet  waters  forever  singing  a  song  of 
praise  therein. 

Elsie  was  heard  within  the  house  meanwhile  making 
energetic  commotion,  rattling  pots  and  pans,  and  producing 
decided  movements  among  the  simple  furniture  of  the  dwell 
ing,  probably  with  a  view  to  preparing  for  the  night's  repose 
of  the  guest. 

Meanwhile  Agnes,  kneeling  before  the  shrine,  was  going 
through  with  great  feeling  and  tenderness  the  various  man 
uals  and  movements  of  nightly  devotion  which  her  own 
religious  fervor  and  the  zeal  of  her  spiritual  advisers  had 
enjoined  upon  her.  Christianity,  when  it  entered  Italy, 
came  among  a  people  every  act  of  whose  life  was  colored 
and  consecrated  by  symbolic  and  ritual  acts  of  heathenism. 
The  only  possible  way  to  uproot  this  was  in  supplanting  it 
by  Christian  ritual  and  symbolism  equally  minute  and  per 
vading.  Besides,  in  those  ages  when  the  Christian  preacher 
was  utterly  destitute  of  all  the  help  which  the  press  now 


112  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

gives  in  keeping  under  the  eye  of  converts  the  great  inspir 
ing  truths  of  religion,  it  was  one  of  the  first  offices  of  every 
saint  whose  preaching  stirred  the  heart  of  the  people,  to  de 
vise  symbolic  forms,  signs,  and  observances,  by  which  the 
mobile  and  fluid  heart  of  the  multitude  might  crystallize  into 
habits  of  devout  remembrance.  The  rosary,  the  crucifix, 
the  shrine,  the  banner,  the  procession,  were  catechisms  and 
tracts  invented  for  those  who  could  not  read,  wherein  the 
substance  of  pages  was  condensed  and  gave  itself  to  the  eye 
and  the  touch.  Let  us  not,  from  the  height  of  our  day,  with 
the  better  appliances  which  a  universal  press  gives  us,  sneer 
at  the  homely  rounds  of  the  ladder  by  which  the  first  multi 
tudes  of  the  Lord's  followers  climbed  heavenward. 

If  there  seemed  somewhat  mechanical  in  the  number  of 
times  which  Agnes  repeated  the  "  Hail,  Mary  ! "  —  in  the 
prescribed  number  of  times  she  rose  or  bowed  or  crossed 
herself  or  laid  her  forehead  in  low  humility  on  the  flags  of 
the  pavement,  it  was  redeemed  by  the  earnest  fervor  which 
inspired  each  action.  However  foreign  to  the  habits  of  a 
Northern  mind  or  education  such  a  mode  of  prayer  may  be, 
these  forms  to  her  were  all  helpful  and  significant,  her  soul 
was  borne  by  them  Godward,  —  and  often,  as  she  prayed,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  could  feel  the  dissolving  of  all  earthly 
things,  and  the  pressing  nearer  and  nearer  of  the  great  cloud 
of  witnesses  who  ever  surround  the  humblest  member  of 
Christ's  mystical  body. 

"  Sweet  loving  hearts  around  her  beat, 

Sweet  helping  hands  are  stirred, 
And  palpitates  the  veil  between 
With  breathings  almost  heard." 

Certain  English  writers,  looking  entirely  from  a  worldly 
and  philosophical  stand-point,  are  utterly  at  a  loss  to  account 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  113 

for  the  power  which  certain  Italian  women  of  obscure  birth 
came  to  exercise  in  the  councils  of  nations  merely  by  the 
force  of  a  mystical  piety  ;  but  the  Northern  mind  of  Europe 
is  entirely  unfitted  to  read  and  appreciate  the  psychological 
religious  phenomena  of  Southern  races.  The  temperament 
which  in  our  modern  days  has  been  called  the  medii'stic,  and 
which  with  us  is  only  exceptional,  is  more  or  less  a  race-pe 
culiarity  of  Southern  climates,  and  gives  that  objectiveness 
to  the  conception  of  spiritual  things  from  which  grew  up 
a  whole  ritual  and  a  whole  .world  of  religious  Art.  The 
Southern  saints  and  religious  artists  were  seers,  —  men  and 
women  of  that  peculiar  fineness  and  delicacy  of  temperament 
which  made  them  especially  apt  to  receive  and  project  out 
ward  the  truths  of  the  spiritual  life ;  they  were  in  that  state 
of  "  divine  madness  "  which  is  favorable  to  the  most  intense 
conception  of  the  poet  and  artist,  and  something  of  this 
influence  descended  through  all  the  channels  of  the  people. 

When  Agnes  rose  from  prayer,  she  had  a  serene,  exalted 
expression,  like  one  who  walks  with  some  unseen  excellence 
and  meditates  on  some  untold  joy.  As  she  was  crossing  the 
court  to  come  towards  her  uncle,  her  eye  was  attracted  by 
the  sparkle  of  something  on  the  ground,  and,  stooping,  she 
picked  up  a  heart-shaped  locket,  curiously  made  of  a  large 
amethyst,  and  fastened  with  a  golden  arrow.  As  she  pressed 
upon  this,  the  locket  opened  and  disclosed  to  her  view  a 
folded  paper.  Her  mood  at  this  moment  was  so  calm  and 
elevated  that  she  received  the  incident  with  no  start  or 
shiver  of  the  nerves.  To  her  it  seemed  a  Providential  to 
ken,  which  would  probably  bring  to  her  some  further  knowl 
edge  of  this  mysterious  being  who  had  been  so  especially 
confided  to  her  intercessions. 

Agnes  had  learned  of  the  Superior  of  the  Convent  the  art 


114  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

of  reading  writing,  which  would  never  have  been  the  birth 
right  of  the  peasant-girl  in  her  times,  and  the  moon  had  that 
dazzling  clearness  which  •  revealed  every  letter.  She  stood 
by  the  parapet,  one  hand  lying  in  the  white  blossoming  alys- 
surn  which  filled  its  marble  crevices,  while  she  read  and 
seriously  pondered  the  contents  of  the  paper. 

TO   AGNES. 

Sweet  saint,  sweet  lady,  may  a  sinful  soul 
Approach  thee  with  an  offering  of  love, 
And  lay  at  thy  dear  feet  a  weary  heart 
That  loves  thee,  as  it  loveth  God  above? 
If  blessed  Mary  may  without  a  stain 
Receive  the  love  of  sinners  most  defiled, 
If  the  fair  saints  that  walk  with  her  in  white 
Refuse  not  love  from  earth's  most  guilty  child, 
Shouldst  thou,  sweet  lady,  then  that  love  deny 
Which  all-unworthy  at  thy  feet  is  laid? 
Ah,  gentlest  angel,  be  not  more  severe 
Than  the  dear  heavens  unto  a  loving  prayer! 
Howe'er  unworthily  that  prayer  be  said, 
Let  thine  acceptance  be  like  that  on  high! 

There  might  have  been  times  in  Agnes's  life  when  the 
reception  of  this  note  would  have  astonished  and  perplexed 
her ;  but  the  whole  strain  of  thought  and  conversation  this 
evening  had  been  in  exalted  and  poetical  regions,  and  the 
soft  stillness  of  the  hour,  the  wonderful  calmness  and  clear 
ness  of  the  moonlight,  all  seemed  in  unison  with  the  strange 
incident  that  had  occurred,  and  with  the  still  stranger  tenor 
of  the  paper.  The  soft  melancholy,  half-religious  tone  of  it 
was  in  accordance  with  the  whole  under-current  of  her  life, 
and  prevented  that  start  of  alarm  which  any  homage  of  a 
more  worldly  form  might  have  excited.  It  is  not  to  be  won 
dered  at,  therefore,  that  she  read  it  many  times  with  pauses 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  115 

and  intervals  of  deep  thought,  and  then  with  a  movement  of 
natural  and  girlish  curiosity  examined  the  rich  jewel  which 
had  enclosed  it.  At  last,  seeming  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
she  folded  the  paper  and  replaced  it  in  its  sparkling  casket, 
and,  unlocking  the  door  of  the  shrine,  laid  the  gem  with  its 
enclosure  beneath  the  lily-spray,  as  another  offering  to  the 
Madonna.  "  Dear  Mother,"  she  said,  "  if  indeed  it  be  so, 
may  he  rise  from  loving  me  to  loving  thee  and  thy 
dear  Son,  who  is  Lord  of  all !  Amen  ! "  Thus  praying, 
she  locked  the  door  and  turned  thoughtfully  to  her  repose, 
leaving  the  monk  pacing  up  and  down  in  the  moonlit 
garden. 

Meanwhile  the  cavalier  was  standing  on  the  velvet  mossy 
bridge  which  spanned  the  stream  at  the  bottom  of  the  gorge, 
watching  the  play  of  moonbeams  on  layer  after  layer  of 
tremulous  silver  foliage  in  the  clefts  of  the  black,  rocky  walls 
on  either  side.  The  moon  rode  so  high  in  the  deep  violet- 
colored  sky,  that  her  beams  came  down  almost  vertically, 
making  green  and  translucent  the  leaves  through  which  they 
passed,  and  throwing  strongly  marked  shadows  here  and 
there  on  the  flower-embroidered  moss  of  the  old  bridge. 
There  was  that  solemn,  plaintive  stillness  in  the  air  which 
makes  the  least  sound  —  the  hum  of  an  insect's  wing,  the 
cracking  of  a  twig,  the  patter  of  falling  water  —  so  distinct 
and  impressive. 

It  needs  not  to  be  explained  how  the  cavalier,  following 
the  steps  of  Agnes  and  her  grandmother  at  a  distance,  had 
threaded  the  path  by  which  they  ascended  to  their  little 
sheltered  nook,  —  how  he  had  lingered  within  hearing  of 
Agnes's  voice,  and,  moving  among  the  surrounding  rocks 
and  trees,  and  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  as  evening  shad 
ows  drew  on,  had  listened  to  the  conversation,  hoping  that 


116  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

some  unexpected  chance  might  gain  him  a  moment's  speech 
with  his  enchantress. 

The  reader  will  have  gathered  from  the  preceding  chapter 
that  the  conception  which  Agnes  had  formed  as  to  the  mil 
position  of  her  admirer  from  the  reports  of  Giulietta  was 
false,  and  that  in  reality  he  was  not  Lord  Adrian,  the  brother 
of  the  King,  but  an  outcast  and  landless  representative  of 
one  branch  of  an  ancient  and  noble  Roman  family,  whose 
estates  had  been  confiscated  and  whose  relations  had  been 
murdered,  to  satisfy  the  boundless  rapacity  of  Caesar  Borgia, 
the  infamous  favorite  of  the  notorious  Alexander  VI. 

The  natural  temperament  of  Agostino  Sarelli  had  been 
rather  that  of  the  poet  and  artist  than  of  the  warrior.  In 
the  beautiful  gardens  of  his  ancestral  home  it  had  been  his 
delight  to  muse  over  the  pages  of  Dante ;  to  sing  to  the  lute, 
and  to  write  in  the  facile  flowing  rhyme  of  his  native  Italian, 
the  fancies  of  the  dream-land  of  his  youth. 

He  was  the  younger  brother  of  the  family,  —  the  favorite 
son  and  companion  of  his  mother,  who,  being  of  a  tender 
and  religious  nature,  had  brought  him  up  in  habits  of  the 
most  implicit  reverence  and  devotion  for  the  institutions  of 
his  fathers. 

The  storm  which  swept  over  his  house,  and  blasted  all  his 
worldly  prospects,  blasted,  too,  and  withered  all  those  relig 
ious  hopes  and  beliefs  by  which  alone  sensitive  and  affection 
ate  natures  can  be  healed  of  the  wounds  of  adversity  without 
caving  distortion  or  scar.  For  his  house  had  been  over 
thrown,  his  elder  brother  cruelly  and  treacherously  murdered, 
himself  and  his  retainers  robbed  and  cast  out,  by  a  man  who 
had  the  entire  sanction  and  support  of  the  Head  of  the 
Christian  Church,  the  Vicar  of  Christ  on  Earth.  So  said 
the  current  belief  of  his  times,  —  the  faith  in  which  his 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  117 

sainted  mother  died;  and  the  difficulty  with  which  a  man 
breaks  away  from  such  ties  is  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
refinement  and  elevation  of  his  nature. 

In  the  mind  of  our  young  nobleman  there  was  a  double 
current.  He  was  a  Roman,  and  the  traditions  of  his  house 
went  back  to  the  time  of  Mutius  Scaevola ;  and  his  old  nurse 
had  often  told  him  that  grand  story  of  how  the  young  hero 
stood  with  his  right  hand  in  the  fire  rather  than  betray  his 
honor.  If  the  legends  of  Rome's  ancient  heroes  cause  the 
pulses  of  colder  climes  and  alien  races  to  throb  with  sympa 
thetic  heroism,  what  must  their  power  be  to  one  who  says, 
"  These  were  my  fathers" t  Agostino  read  Plutarch,  and 
thought,  "  I,  too,  am  a  Roman  !  "  —  and  then  he  looked  on 
the  power  that  held  sway  over  the  Tarpeian  Rock  and  the 
halls  of  the  old  "  Sanctus  Senatus,"  and  asked  himself,  "  By 
what  right  does  it  hold  these  ?  "  He  knew  full  well  that  in 
the  popular  belief  all  those  hardy  and  virtuous  old  Romans 
whose  deeds  of  heroism  so  transported  him  were  burning  in 
hell  for  the  crime  of  having  been  born  before  Christ ;  and 
he  asked  himself,  as  he  looked  on  the  horrible  and  unnatural 
luxury  and  vice  which  defiled  the  Papal  chair  and  ran  riot 
through  every  ecclesiastical  order,  whether  such  men,  with 
out  faith,  without  conscience,  and  without  even  decency,  were 
indeed  the  only  authorized  successors  of  Christ  and  his  Apos 
tles? 

To  us,  of  course,  from  our  modern  stand-point,  the  ques 
tion  has  an  easy  solution,  —  but  not  so  in  those  days,  when 
the  Christianity  of  the  known  world  was  in  the  Romish 
church,  and  when  the  choice  seemed  to  be  between  that  and 
infidelity.  Not  yet  had  Luther  flared  aloft  the  bold,  cheery 
torch  which  showed  the  faithful  how  to  disentangle  Chris 
tianity  from  Ecclesiasticism.  Luther  in  those  days  was  a 


118  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

star  lying  low  in  the  gray  horizon  of  a  yet  unawakened 
dawn. 

All  through  Italy  at  this  time  there  was  the  restless  throb 
bing  and  pulsating,  the  aimless  outreach  of  the  popular 
heart,  which  marks  the  decline  of  one  cycle  of  religious  faith 
and  calls  for  some  great  awakening  and  renewal.  Savona 
rola,  the  priest  and  prophet  of  this  dumb  desire,  was  begin 
ning  to  heave  a  great  heart  of  conflict  towards  that  mighty 
struggle'with  the  vices  and  immoralities  of  his  time  in  which 
he  was  yet  to  sink  a  martyr ;  and  even  now  his  course  was 
beginning  to  be  obstructed  by  the  full  energy  of  the  whole 
aroused  serpent  brood  which  hissed  and  knotted  in  the  holy 
places  of  Rome. 

Here,  then,  was  our  Agostino,  with  a  nature  intensely 
fervent  and  poetic,  every  fibre  of  whose  soul  and  nervous 
system  had  been  from  childhood  skilfully  woven  and  inter 
twined  with  the  ritual  and  faith  of  his  fathers,  yearning 
towards  the  grave  of  his  mother,  yearning  towards  the 
legends  of  saints  and  angels  with  which  she  had  lulled  his 
cradle  slumbers  and  sanctified  his  childhood's  pillow,  and  yet 
burning  with  the  indignation  of  a  whole  line  of  old  Roman 
ancestors  against  an  injustice  and  oppression  wrought  under 
the  full  approbation  of  the  head  of  that  religion.  Half  his 
nature  was  all  the  while  battling  the  other  half.  Would  he 
be  Roman,  or  would  he  be  Christian  ?  All  the  Roman  in 
him  said  "  No ! "  when  he  thought  of  submission  to  the 
patent  and  open  injustice  and  fiendish  tyranny  which  had 
disinherited  him,  slain  his  kindred,  and  held  its  impure  reign 
by  torture  and  by  blood.  He  looked  on  the  splendid  snow- 
crowned  mountains  whose  old  silver  senate  engirdles  Rome 
with  an  eternal  and  silent  majesty  of  presence,  and  he 
thought  how  often  in  ancient  times  they  had  been  a  shelter 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  119 

to  free  blood  that  would  not  endure  oppression ;  and  so  gath 
ering  to  his  banner  the  crushed  and  scattered  retainers  of 
his  father's  house,  and  offering  refuge  and  protection  to  mul 
titudes  of  others  whom  the  crimes  and  rapacities  of  the 
Borgias  had  stripped  of  possessions  and  means  of  support, 
he  fled  to  a  fastness  in  the  mountains  between  Rome  and 
Naples,  and  became  an  independent  chieftain,  living  by  his 
sword. 

The  rapacity,  cruelty,  and  misgovernment  of  the  various 
regular  authorities  of  Italy  at  this  time  made  brigandage  a 
respectable  and  honored  institution  in  the  eyes  of  the  people, 
though  it  was  ostensibly  banned  both  by  Pope  and  Prince. 
Besides,  in  the  multitude  of  contending  factions  which  were 
every  day  wrangling  for  supremacy,  it  soon  became  apparent, 
even  to  the  ruling  authorities,  that  a  band  of  fighting-men 
under  a  gallant  leader,  advantageously  posted  in  the  moun 
tains  and  understanding  all  their  passes,  was  a  power  of  no 
small  importance  to  be  employed  on  one  side  or  the  other ; 
and  therefore  it  happened,  that,  though  nominally  outlawed 
or  excommunicated,  they  were  secretly  protected  on  both 
sides,  with  a  view  to  securing  their  assistance  in  critical 
turns  of  affairs. 

Among  the  common  people  of  the  towns  and  villages  their 
relations  were  of  the  most  comfortable  kind,  their  depreda 
tions  being  chiefly  confined  to  the  rich  and  prosperous,  who, 
as  they  wrung  their  wealth  out  of  the  people,  were  not  con 
sidered  particular  objects  of  compassion  when  the  same  kind 
of  high-handed  treatment  was  extended  toward  themselves. 

The  most  spirited  and  brave  of  the  young  peasantry,  if 
they  wished  to  secure  the  smiles  of  the  girls  of  their  neigh 
borhood,  and  win  hearts  past  redemption,  found  no  surer 
avenue  to  favor  than  in  joining  the  brigands.  The  leaders 


120  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

of  these  bands  sometimes  piqued  themselves  on  elegant 
tastes  and  accomplishments ;  and  one  of  them  is  said  to 
have  sent  to  the  poet  Tasso,  in  his  misfortunes  and  exile, 
an  offer  of  honorable  asylum  and  protection  in  his  moun 
tain-fortress. 

Agostino  Sarelli  saw  himself,  in  fact,  a  powerful  chief; 
and  there  were  times  when  the  splendid  scenery  of  his 
mountain-fastness,  its  inspiring  air,  its  wild  eagle-like  gran 
deur,  independence,  and  security,  gave  him  a  proud  content 
ment,  and  he  looked  at  his  sword  and  loved  it  as  a  bride. 
But  then  again  there  were  moods  in  which  he  felt  all  that 
yearning  and  disquiet  of  soul  which  the  man  of  wide  and 
tender  moral  organization  must  feel  who  has  had  his  faith 
shaken  in  the  religion  of  his  fathers.  To  such  a  man  the 
quarrel  with  his  childhood's  faith  is  a  never-ending  anguish ; 
especially  is  it  so  with  a  religion  so  objective,  so  pictorial, 
and  so  interwoven  with  the  whole  physical  and  nervous 
nature  of  man,  as  that  which  grew  up  and  flowered  in 
modern  Italy. 

Agostino  was  like  a  man  who  lives  in  an  eternal  struggle 
of  self-justification,  —  his  reason  forever  going  over  and 
over  with  its  plea  before  his  regretful  and  never-satis 
fied  heart,  which  was  drawn  every  hour  of  the  day  by 
some  chain  of  memory  towards  the  faith  whose  visible  ad 
ministrators  he  detested  with  the  whole  force  of  his  moral 
being.  When  the  vesper-bell,  with  its  plaintive  call,  rose 
amid  the  purple  shadows  of  the  olive-silvered  mountains,  — 
when  the  distant  voices  of  chanting  priest  and  choir  reached 
him  solemnly  from  afar,  —  when  he  looked  into  a  church 
with  its  cloudy  pictures  of  angels,  and  its  window-panes 
flaming  with  venerable  forms  of  saints  and  martyrs,  —  it 
roused  a  yearning  anguish,  a  pain  and  conflict,  which  all  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  121 

efforts  of  his  reason  could  not  subdue.  How  to  be  a  Chris 
tian  and  yet  defy  the  authorized  Head  of  the  Christian 
Church,  or  how  to  be  a  Christian  and*  recognize  foul  men 
of  obscene  and  rapacious  deeds  as  Christ's  representatives, 
was  the  inextricable  Gordian  knot,  which  his  sword  could 
not  divide.  He  dared  not  approach  the  Sacrament,  he  dared 
not  pray,  and  sometimes  he  felt  wild  impulses  to  tread  down 
in  riotous  despair  every  fragment  of  a  religious  belief  which 
seemed  to  live  in  his  heart  only  to  torture  him.  He  had 
heard  priests  scoff  over  the  wafer  they  consecrated,  —  he 
had  known  them  to  mingle  poison  for  rivals  in  the  sacra 
mental  wine,  —  and  yet  God  had  kept  silence  and  not  struck 
them  dead ;  and  like  the  Psalmist  of  old  he  said,  "  Verily,  I 
have  cleansed  my  heart  in  vain,  and  washed  my  hands  in 
innocency.  Is  there  a  God  that  judgeth  in  the  earth  ? " 

The  first  time  he  saw  Agnes  bending  like  a  flower  in  the 
slanting  evening  sunbeams  by  the  old  gate  of  Sorrento, 
while  he  stood  looking  down  the  kneeling  street  and  striv 
ing  to  hold  his  own  soul  in  the  sarcastic  calm  of  utter 
indifference,  he  felt  himself  struck  to  the  heart  by  an  in 
fluence  he  could  not  defin^  The  sight  of  that  young  face, 
with  its  clear,  beautiful  lines,  and  its  tender  fervor,  recalled  a 
thousand  influences  of  the  happiest  and  purest  hours  of  his 
life,  and  drew  him  with  an  attraction  he  vainly  strove  to 
hide  under  an  air  of  mocking  gallantry. 

When  she  looked  him  in  the  face  with  such  grave,  sur 
prised  eyes  of  innocent  confidence,  and  promised  to  pray  for 
him,  he  felt  a  remorseful  tenderness  as  if  he  had  profaned  a 
shrine.  All  that  was  passionate,  poetic,  and  romantic  in  his 
nature  was  awakened  to  blend  itself  in  a  strange  mingling  of 
despairing  sadness  and  of  tender  veneration  about  this  sweet 
image  of  perfect  purity  and  faith.  Never  does  love  strike 
6 


122  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

so  deep  and  immediate  a  root  as  in  a  sorrowful  and  desolated 
nature ;  there  it  has  nothing  to  dispute  the  soil,  and  soon 
fills  it  with  its  interlacing  fibres. 

In  this  case  it  was  not  merely  Agnes  that  he  sighed  for, 
but  she  stood  to  him  as  the  fair  symbol  of  that  life-peace, 
that  rest  of  soul  which  he  had  lost,  it  seemed  to  him,  for 
ever. 

u  Behold  this  pure,  believing  child,"  he  said  to  himself, — 
11  a  true  member  of  that  blessed  Church  to  which  thou  art 
a  rebel !  How  peacefully  this  lamb  walketh  the  old  ways 
trodden  by  saints  and  martyrs,  while  thou  art  an  infidel  and 
unbeliever ! "  And  then  a  stern  voice  within  him  answered, 
—  "  What  then  ?  Is  the  Holy  Ghost  indeed  alone  dispensed 
through  the  medium  of  Alexander  and  his  scarlet  crew  of 
cardinals  ?  Hath  the  power  to  bind  and  loose  in  Christ's 
Church  been  indeed  given  to  whoever  can  buy  it  with  the 
wages  of  robbery  and  oppression  ?  Why  does  every  prayer 
and  pious  word  of  the  faithful  reproach  me  ?  Why  is  God 
silent  ?  Or  is  there  any  God  ?  Oh,  Agnes,  Agnes !  dear 
lily !  fair  lamb !  lead  a  sinner  into  the  green  pastures  where 
thou  restest ! "  • 

So  wrestled  the  strong  nature,  tempest-tossed  in  its 
strength,  —  so  slept  the  trustful,  blessed  in  its  trust, — 
then  in  Italy,  as  now  in  all  lands. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  123 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    INTERVIEW. 

THE  dreams  of  Agnes,  on  the  night  after  her  Conversa 
tion  with  the  monk  and  her  singular  momentary  interview 
with  the  cavalier,  were  a  strange  mixture  of  images,  indi 
cating  the  peculiarities  of  her  education  and  habits  of  daily- 
thought. 

She  dreamed  that  she  was  sitting  alone  in  the  moonlight, 
and  heard  some  one  rustling  in  the  distant  foliage  of  the 
orange-groves,  and  from  them  came  a  young  man  dressed  in 
white  of  a  dazzling  clearness  like  sunlight ;  large  pearly 
wings  fell  from  his  shoulders  and  seemed  to  shimmer  with 
a  phosphoric  radiance  ;  his  forehead  was  broad  and  grave, 
and  above  it  floated  a  thin,  tremulous  tongue  of  flame  ;  his 
eyes  had  that  deep,  mysterious  gravity  which  is  so  well  ex 
pressed  in  all  the  Florentine  paintings  of  celestial  beings : 
and  yet,  singularly  enough,  this  white-robed,  glorified  form 
seemed  to  have  the  features  and  lineaments  of  the  mysteri 
ous  cavalier  of  the  evening  before,  —  the  same  deep,  mourn 
ful,  dark  eyes,  only  that  in  them  the  light  of  earthly  pride 
had  given  place  to  the  calm,  strong  gravity  of  an  assured 
peace,  —  the  same  broad  forehead,  —  the  same  delicately 
chiselled  features,  but  elevated  and  etherealized,  glowing 
with  a  kind  of  interior  ecstasy.  He  seemed  to  move  from 
the  shadow  of  the  orange-trees  with  a  backward  floating  of 
his  lustrous  garments,  as  if  borne  on  a  cloud  just  along  the 
surface  of  the  ground;  and  in  his  hand  he  held  the  lily- 


124  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

spray,  all  radiant  with  a  silvery,  living  light,  just  as  the 
monk  had  suggested  to  her  a  divine  flower  might  be.  Ag 
nes  seemed  to  herself  to  hold  her  breath  and  marvel  with 
a  secret  awe,  and,  as  often  happens  in  dreams,  she  wondered 
to  herself,  — "  Was  this  stranger,  then,  indeed,  not  even 
mortal,  not  even  a  king's  brother,  but  an  angel  ?  —  How 
strange,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  I  should  never  have  seen 
it  in  his. eyes!"  Nearer  and  nearer  the  vision  drew,  and 
touched  her  forehead  with  the  lily,  which  seemed  dewy  and 
icy  cool ;  and  with  the  contact  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  deli 
cious  tranquillity,  a  calm  ecstasy,  possessed  her  soul,  and  the 
words  were  impressed  in  her  mind,  as  if  spoken  in  her  ear, 
"  The  Lord  hath  sealed  thee  for  his  own ! "  —  and  then, 
with  the  wild  fantasy  of  dreams,  she  saw  the  cavalier  in  his 
wonted  form  and  garments,  just  as  he  had  kneeled  to  her 
the  night  before,  and  he  said,  "  Oh,  Agnes  !  Agnes !  little 
lamb  of  Christ,  love  me  and  lead  me ! "  —  and  in  her 
sleep  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  heart  stirred  and  throb 
bed  with  a  strange,  new  movement  in  answer  to  those 
sad,  pleading  eyes,  and  thereafter  her  dream  became  more 
troubled. 

The  sea  was  beginning  now  to  brighten  with  the  reflection 
of  the  coming  dawn  in  the  sky,  and  the  flickering  fire  of  Ve 
suvius  was  waxing  sickly  and  pale ;  and  while  all  the  high 
points  of  rocks  were  turning  of  a  rosy  purple,  in  the  weird 
depths  of  the  gorge  were  yet  the  unbroken  shadows  and 
stillness  of  night.  But  at  the  earliest  peep  of  dawn  the 
monk  had  risen,  and  now,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the 
little  garden,  his  morning  hymn  mingled  with  Agnes's 
dreams,  —  words  strong  with  all  the  nerve  of  the  old  Latin, 
which,  when  they  were  written,  had  scarcely  ceased  to  be 
the  spoken  tongue  of  Italy. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  125 

"  Splendor  paternse  gloriae, 
De  luce  lucem  proferens, 
Lux  lucis  et  fons  luminis, 
Dies  diem  illuminans! 

"  Votis  vocemus  et  Patrem, 
Patrem  potentis  gratiae, 
Patrem  perennis  gloriae: 
Culpam  releget  lubricam ! 

"  Confirm  et  actus  strenuos, 
Dentes  retundat  invidi, 
Casus  secundet  asperos, 
Donet  gerendi  gratiam! 

"  Christus  nobis  sit  cibus, 
Potusque  noster  sit  fides: 
Laeti  bibamus  sobriam 
Ebrietatem  spiritus! 

"Lgetus  dies  hie  transeat, 
Pudor  sit  ut  diluculum, 
Fides  velut  meridies, 
Crepusculum  mens  nesciat!  "  * 

The  hymn  in  every  word   well  expressed  the  character 
and  habitual  pose  of  mind  of  the  singer,  whose  views  of 

*  Splendor  of  the  Father's  glory, 

Bringing  light  with  cheering  ray, 
Light  of  light  and  fount  of  brightness, 
Day,  illuminating  day! 

In  our  prayers  we  call  thee  Father, 

Father  of  eternal  glory, 
Father  of  a  mighty  grace : 

Heal  our  errors,  we  implore  thee ! 

Form  our  struggling,  vague  desires; 

Power  of  spiteful  spirits  break; 
Help  us  in  life's  straits,  and  give  us 

Grace  to  suffer  for  thy  sake! 


126  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

earthly  matters  were  as  different  from  the  views  of  ordinary 
working  mortals  as  those  of  a  bird,  as  he  flits  and  perches 
and  sings,  must  be  from  those  of  the  four-footed  ox  who 
plods.  The  <;  sobriam  ebrietatem  spiritus  "  was  with  him  first 
constitutional,  as  a  child  of  sunny  skies,  and  then  cultivated 
by  every  employment  and  duty  of  the  religious  and  artistic 
career  to  which  from  childhood  he  had  devoted  himself.  If 
perfect,  unalloyed  happiness  has  ever  existed  in  this  weary, 
work-day  world  of  ours,  it  has  been  in  the  bosoms  of  some 
of  those  old  religious  artists  of  the  Middle  Ages,  whose 
thoughts  grew  and  flowered  in  prayerful  shadows,  bursting 
into  thousands  of  quaint  and  fanciful  blossoms  on  the  pages 
of  missal  and  breviary.  In  them  the  fine  life  of  color,  form, 
and  symmetry,  which  is  the  gift  of  the  Italian,  formed  a  rich 
stock  on  which  to  graft  the  true  vine  of  religious  faith,  and 
rare  and  fervid  were  the  blossoms. 

For  it  must  be  remarked  in  justice  of  the  Christian  relig 
ion,  that  the  Italian  people  never  rose  to  the  honors  of  origi 
nality  in  the  beautiful  arts  till  inspired  by  Christianity.  The 
Art  of  ancient  Rome  was  a  second-hand  copy  of  the  original 
and  airy  Greek,  —  often  clever,  but  never  vivid  and  self- 
originating.  It  is  to  the  religious  Art  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
to  the  Umbrian  and  Florentine  schools  particularly,  that  we 
look  for  the  peculiar  and  characteristic  flowering  of  the 

Christ  for  us  shall  be  our  food; 

Faith  in  him  our  drink  shall  be; 
Hopeful,  joyful,  let  us  drink 

Soberness  of  ecstasy ! 

Joyful  shall  our  day  go  by, 

Purity  its  dawning  light, 
Faith  its  fervid  noontide  glow, 

And  for  us  shall  be  no  night! 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  127 

Italian  mind.  When  the  old  Greek  Art  revived  again  in 
modern  Europe,  though  at  first  it  seemed  to  add  richness 
and  grace  to  this  peculiar  development,  it  smothered  and 
killed  it  at  last,  as  some  brilliant  tropical  parasite  exhausts 
the  life  of  the  tree  it  seems  at  first  to  adorn.  Raphael  and 
Michel  Angelo  mark  both  the  perfected  splendor  and  the 
commenced  decline  of  original  Italian  Art ;  and  just  in  pro 
portion  as  their  ideas  grew  less  Christian  and  more  Greek 
did  the  peculiar  vividness  and  intense  flavor  of  Italian  na 
tionality  pass  away  from  them.  They  became  again  like 
the  ancient  Romans,  gigantic  imitators  and  clever  copyists, 
instead  of  inspired  kings  and  priests  of  a  national  develop 
ment. 

The  tones  of  the  monk's  morning  hymn  awakened  both 
Agnes  and  Elsie,  and  the  latter  was  on  the  alert  instantly. 

"  Bless  my  soul ! "  she  said,  "  brother  Antonio  has  a  mar 
vellous  power  of  lungs;  he  is  at  it  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning.  It  always  used  to  be  so ;  when  he  was  a  boy,  he 
would  wake  me  up  before  daylight  singing." 

"  He  is  happy,  like  the  birds,"  said  Agnes,  "  because  he 
flies  near  heaven." 

"  Like  enough :  he  was  always  a  pious  boy  ;  his  prayers 
and  his  pencil  were  ever  uppermost :  but  he  was  a  poor  hand 
at  work :  he  could  draw  you  an  olive-tree  on  paper ;  but  set 
him  to  dress  it,  and  any  fool  would  have  done  better." 

The  morning  rites  of  devotion  and  the  simple  repast  being 
over,  Elsie  prepared  to  go  to  her  business.  It  had  occurred 
to  her  that  the  visit  of  her  brother  was  an  admirable  pretext 
for  withdrawing  Agnes  from  the  scene  of  her  daily  traffic, 
and  of  course,  as  she  fondly  supposed,  keeping  her  from  the 
sight  of  the  suspected  admirer. 

Neither  Agnes  nor  the  monk  had  disturbed  her  serenity 


128  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

by  recounting  the  adventure  of  the  evening  before.  Agnes 
had  been  silent  from  the  habitual  reserve  which  a  difference 
of  nature  ever  placed  between  her  and  her  grandmother,  — 
a  difference  which  made  confidence  on  her  side  an  utter 
impossibility.  There  are  natures  which  ever  must  be  silent 
to  other  natures,  because  there  is  no  common  language 
between  them.  In  the  same  house,  at  the  same  board,  shar 
ing  the  same  pillow  even,  are  those  forever  strangers  and 
foreigners,  whose  whole  stock  of  intercourse  is  limited  to  a 
few  brief  phrases  on  the  commonest  material  wants  of  life, 
and  who,  as  soon  as  they  try  to  go  farther,  have  no  words 
that  are  mutually  understood. 

"  Agnes,"  said  her  grandmother,  "  I  shall  not  need  you  at 
the  stand  to-day.  There  is  that  new  flax  to  be  spun,  and 
you  may  keep  company  with  your  uncle.  I  '11  warrant  me, 
you  '11  be  glad  enough  of  that !  " 

"  Certainly  I  shall,"  said  Agnes,  cheerfully.  "  Uncle's 
comings  are  my  holidays." 

"  I  will  show  you  somewhat  further  on  my  Breviary,"  said 
the  monk.  "  Praised  be  God,  many  new  ideas  sprang  up  in 
my  mind  last  night,  and  seemed  to  shoot  forth  in  blossoms. 
Even  my  dreams  have  often  been  made  fruitful  in  this  divine 

work." 

• 

"  Many  a  good  thought  comes  in  dreams,"  said  Elsie ; 
"  but,  for  my  part,  I  work  too  hard  and  sleep  too  sound  to 
get  much  that  way." 

"  Well,  brother/'  said  Elsie,  after  breakfast,  "  you  must 
look  well  after  Agnes  to-day  ;  for  there  be  plenty  of  wolves 
go  round,  hunting  these  little  lambs." 

"  Have  no  fear,  sister,"  said  the  monk,  tranquilly ;  "  the 
angels  have  her  in  charge.  If  our  eyes  were  only  clear 
sighted,  we  should  see  that  Christ's  little  ones  are  never 
alone." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  129 

"  All  that  is  fine  talk,  brother ;  but  I  never  found  that  the 
angels  attended  to  any  of  my  affairs,  unless  I  looked  after 
them  pretty  sharp  myself;  and  as  for  girls,  the  dear  Lord 
knows  they  need  a  legion  apiece  to  look  after  them.  What 
with  roystering  fellows  and  smooth-tongued  gallants,  and 
with  silly,  empty-headed  hussies  like  that  Giulietta,  one  has 
much  ado  to  keep  the  best  of  them  straight.  Agnes  is  one 
of  the  best,  too,  —  a  well-brought  up,  pious,'  obedient  girl, 
and  industrious  as  a  bee.  Happy  is  the  husband  who  gets 
her.  I  would  I  knew  a  man  good  enough  for  her." 

This  conversation  took  place  while  Agnes  was  in  the  gar 
den  picking  oranges  and  lemons,  and  filling  the  basket  which 
her  grandmother  was  to  take  to  the  town.  The  silver  ripple 
of  a  hymn  that  she  was  singing  came  through  the  open 
door ;  it  was  part  of  a  sacred  ballad  in  honor  of  Saint 
Agnes :  — 

"  Bring  me  no  pearls  to  bind  my  hair, 

No  sparkling  jewels  bring  to  me ! 
Dearer  by  far  the  blood-red  rose 
That  speaks  of  Him  who  died  for  me. 

"Ah!  vanish  every  earthly  love, 

All  earthly  dreams  forgotten  be! 
My  heart  is  gone  beyond  the  stars, 
To  live  with  Him  who  died  for  me." 

"  Hear  you  now,  sister,"  said  the  monk,  "  how  the  Lord 
keeps  the  door  of  this  maiden's  heart  ?  There  is  no  fear  of 
her ;  and  I  much  doubt,  sister,  whether  you  would  do  well  to 
interfere  with  the  evident  call  this  child  hath  to  devote  her 
self  wholly  to  the  Lord." 

"  Oh,  you  talk,  brother  Antonio,  who  never  had  a  child  in 
your  life,  and  don't  know  how  a  mother's  heart  warms  tow 
ards  her  children  and  her  children's  children  !  The  saints, 
6* 


130  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

as  I  said,  must  be  reasonable,  and  ought  n't  to  be  putting 
vocations  into  the  head  of  an  old  woman's  only  staff  and 
stay  ;  and  if  they  ought  n't  to,  why,  then,  they  won't.  Agnes 
is  a  pious  child,  and  loves  her  prayers  and  hymns ;  and  so 
she  will  love  her  husband,  one  of  these  days,  as  an  honest 
woman  should." 

"  But  you  know,  sister,  that  the  highest  seats  in  Paradise 
are  reserved  for  the  virgins  who  follow  the  Lamb." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  Elsie,  stiffly  ;  "  but  the  lower  seats  are 
good  enough  for  Agnes  and  me.  For  my  part,  I  would 
rather  have  a  little  comfort  as  I  go  along,  and  put  up  with 
less  in  Paradise,  (may  our  dear  Lady  bring  us  safely  there !) 
say  I." 

So  saying,  Elsie  raised  the  large,  square  basket  of  golden 
fruit  to  her  head,  and  turned  her  stately  figure  towards  the 
scene  of  her  daily  labors. 

The  monk  seated  himself  on  the  garden-wall,  with  his 
portfolio  by  his  side,  and  seemed  busily  sketching  and 
retouching  some  of  his  ideas.  Agnes  wound  some  silvery- 
white  flax  round  her  distaff,  and  seated  herself  near  him 
under  an  orange-tree ;  and  while  her  small  fingers  were 
twisting  the  flax,  her  large,  thoughtful  eyes  were  wandering 
off  on  the  deep  blue  sea,  pondering  over  and  over  the 
strange  events  of  the  day  before,  and  the  dreams  of  the 
night. 

"  Dear  child,"  said  the  monk,  "  have  you  thought  more  5f 
what  I  said  to  you  ?  " 

A  deep  blush  suffused  her  cheek  as  she  answered,  — 

"  Yes,  uncle ;  and  I  had  a  strange  dream  last  night." 

"  A  dream,  my  little  heart  ?  Come,  then,  and  tell  it  to  its 
uncle.  Dreams  are  the  hushing  of  the  bodily  senses,  that 
the  eyes  of  the  Spirit  may  open." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  131 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Agnes,  "  I  dreamed  that  I  sat  ponder 
ing  as  I  did  last  evening  in  the  moonlight,  and  that  an  angel 
came  forth  from  the  trees  "  

"  Indeed !  "  said  the  monk,  looking  up  with  interest ;  "  what 
form  had  he  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  young  man,  in  dazzling  white  raiment,  and  his 
eyes  were  deep  as  eternity ;  and  over  his  forehead  was  a 
silver  flame,  and  he  bore  a  lily-stalk  in  his  hand,  which  was 
like  what  you  told  of,  with  light  in  itself." 

"  That  must  have  been  the  holy  Gabriel,"  said  the  monk, 
"  the  angel  that  came  to  our  blessed  Mother.  Did  he  say 
aught?" 

"  Yes,  he  touched  my  forehead  with  the  lily,  and  a  sort  of 
cool  rest  and  peace  went  all  through  me,  and  he  said,  '  The 
Lord  hath  sealed  thee  for  his  own ! '  " 

"  Even  so,"  said  the  monk,  looking  up,  and  crossing  him 
self  devoutly,  "  by  this  token  I  know  that  my  prayers  are 
answered." 

"  But,  dear  uncle,"  said  Agnes,  hesitating  and  blushing 
painfully,  "  there  was  one  singular  thing  about  my  dream,  — 
this  holy  angel  had  yet  a  strange  likeness  to  the  young  man 
that  came  here  last  night,  so  that  I  could  not  but  marvel 
at  it." 

"  It  may  be  that  the  holy  angel  took  on  him  in  part  this 
likeness  to  show  how  glorious  a  redeemed  soul  might  become, 
that  you  might  be  encouraged  to  pray.  The  holy  Saint 
Monica  thus  saw  the  blessed  Augustine  standing  clothed  in 
white  among  the  angels  while  he  was  yet  a  worldling  and 
unbeliever,  and  thereby  received  the  grace  to  continue  her 
prayers  for  thirty  years,  till  she  saw  him  a  holy  bishop. 
This  is  a  sure  sign  that  this  young  man,  whoever  he 
may  be,  shall  attain  Paradise  through  your  prayers.  Tell 


132  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

me,  dear  little  heart,  is  this  the  first  angel  thou  hast 
seen?" 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  them  before.  I  have  dreamed  of 
our  Lady,  and  Saint  Agnes,  and  Saint  Catharine  of  Siena ; 
and  sometimes  it  seemed  that  they  sat  a  long  time  by  my 
bed,  and  sometimes  it  seemed  that  they  took  me  with  them 
away  to  some  beautiful  place  where  the  air  was  full  of 
music,  and  sometimes  they  filled  my  hands  with  such  lovely 
flowers  that  when  I  waked  I  was  ready  to  weep  that  they 
could  no  more  be  found.  Why,  dear  uncle,  do  you  see 
angels  often  ?  " 

"  Not  often,  dear  child,  but  sometimes  a  little  glimpse. 
But  you  should  see  the  pictures  of  our  holy  Father  Angel- 
ico,  to  whom  the  angels  appeared  constantly ;  for  so  blessed 
was  the  life  he  lived,  that  it  was  more  in  heaven  than  on 
earth.  He  would  never  cumber  his  mind  with  the  things 
of  this  world,  and  would  not  paint  for  money,  nor  for  prince's 
favor ;  nor  would  he  take  places  of  power  and  trust  in  the 
Church,  or  else,  so  great  was  his  piety,  they  had  made  a 
bishop  of  him ;  but  he  kept  ever  aloof  and  walked  in  the 
shade.  He  used  to  say,  *  They  that  would  do  Christ's  work 
must  walk  with  Christ.'  His  pictures  of  angels  are  indeed 
wonderful,  and  their  robes  are  of  all  dazzling  colors,  like 
the  rainbow.  It  is  most  surely  believed  among  us  that  he 
painted  to  show  forth  what  he  saw  in  heavenly  visions." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Agnes,  "  how  I  wish  I  could  see  some  of 
these  things  ! " 

"  You  may  well  say  so,  dear  child.  There  is  one  picture 
of  Paradise  painted  on  gold,  and  there  you  may  see  our 
Lord  in  the  midst  of  the  heavens  crowning  his  blessed 
Mother,  and  all  the  saints  and  angels  surrounding  ;  and 
the  colors  are  so  bright  that  they  seem  like  the  sunset 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  133 

clouds,  —  golden,  and  rosy,  and  purple,  and  amethystine, 
and  green  like  the  new,  tender  leaves  of  spring :  for,  you 
see,  the  angels  are  the  Lord's  flowers  and  birds  that  shine 
and  sing  to  gladden  his  Paradise,  and  there  is  nothing  bright 
on  earth  that  is  comparable  to  them,  —  so  said  the  blessed 
Angelico,  who  saw  them.  And  what  seems  worthy  of  note 
about  them  is  their  marvellous  lightness,  that  they  seem  to 
float  as  naturally  as  the  clouds  do,  and  their  garments  have 
a  divine  grace  of  motion  like  vapor  that  curls  and  wavers  in 
the  sun.  Their  faces,  too,  are  most  wonderful ;  for  they 
seem  so  full  of  purity  and  majesty,  and  withal  humble,  with 
an  inexpressible  sweetness  ;  for,  beyond  all  others  it  was 
given  to  the  holy  Angelico  to  paint  the  immortal  beauty  of 
the  soul." 

"  It  must  be  a  great  blessing  and  favor  for  you,  dear  uncle, 
to  see  all  these  things,"  said  Agnes ;  "  I  am  never  tired  of 
hearing  you  tell  of  them." 

"  There  is  one  little  picture,"  said  the  monk,  "  wherein  he 
hath  painted  the  death  of  our  dear  Lady ;  and  surely  no 
mortal  could  ever  conceive  anything  like  her  sweet  dying 
face,  so  faint  and  weak  and  tender  that  each  man  sees  his 
own  mother  dying  there,  yet  so  holy  that  one  feels  that  it 
can  be  no  other  than  the  mother  of  our  Lord;  and  around 
her  stand  the  disciples  mourning ;  but  above  is  our  blessed 
Lord  himself,  who  receives  the  parting  spirit,  as  a  tender 
new-born  babe,  into  his  bosom  :  for  so  the  holy  painters  rep 
resented  the  death  of  saints,  as  of  a  birth  in  which  each  soul 
became  a  little  child  of  heaven." 

"  How  great  grace  must  come  from  such  pictures  ! "  said 
Agnes.  "It  seems  to  me  that  the  making  of  such  holy 
things  is  one  of  the  most  blessed  of  good  works.  —  Dear 
uncle,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "they  say  that  this  deep 


134  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

gorge  is  haunted  by  evil  spirits,  who  often  waylay  and  be 
wilder  the  unwary,  especially  in  the  hours  of  darkness." 

"  I  should  not  wonder  in  the  least,"  said  the  monk ;  "  for 
you  must  know,  child,  that  our  beautiful  Italy  was  of  old  so 
completely  given  up  and  gone  over  to  idolatry  that  even  her 
very  soil  casts  up  fragments  of  temples  and  stones  that  have 
been  polluted.  Especially  around  these  shores  there  is 
scarcely  a  spot  that  hath  not  been  violated  in  all  times  by 
vilenesses  and  impurities  such  as  the  Apostle  saith  it  is  a 
shame  even  to  speak  of.  These  very  waters  cast  up  marbles 
and  fragments  of  colored  mosaics  from  the  halls  which  were 
polluted  with  devil-worship  and  abominable  revellings;  so 
that,  as  the  Gospel  saith  that  the  evil  spirits  cast  out  by 
Christ  walk  through  waste  places,  so  do  they  cling  to  these 
fragments  of  their  old  estate." 

"  Well,  uncle,  I  have  longed  to  consecrate  the  gorge  to 
Christ  by  having  a  shrine  there,  where  I  might  keep  a 
lamp  burning." 

"  It  is  a  most  pious  thought,  child." 

"  And  so,  dear  uncle,  I  thought  that  you  would  undertake 
the  work.  There  is  one  Pietro  hereabout  who  is  a  skilful 
worker  in  stone,  and  was  a  playfellow  of  mine,  —  though 
of  late  grandmamma  has  forbidden  me  to  talk  with  him,  — 
and  I  think  he  would  execute  it  under  your  direction." 

"  Indeed,  my  little  heart,  it  shall  be  done,"  said  the  monk, 
cheerfully  ;  "  and  I  will  engage  to  paint  a  fair  picture  of  our 
Lady  to  be  within  ;  and  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thought 
to  have  a  pinnacle  on  the  outside,  where  should  stand  a 
statue  of  Saint  Michael  with  his  sword.  Saint  Michael 
is  a  brave  and  wonderful  angel,  and  all  the  devils  and  vile 
spirits  are  afraid  of  him.  I  will  set  about  the  devices 
to-day." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  135 

And  cheerily  the  good  monk  began  to  intone  a  verse  of 
an  old  hymn,  — 

"  Sub  tutela  Michaelis, 
Pax  in  terra,  pax  in  ccelis."  * 

In  such  talk  and  work  the  day  passed  away  to  Agnes ; 
but  we  will  not  say  that  she  did  not  often  fall  into  deep  mus 
ings  on  the  mysterious  visitor  of  the  night  before.  Often 
while  the  good  monk  was  busy  at  his  drawing,  the  distaff 
would  droop  over  her  knee  and  her  large  dark  eyes  become 
intently  fixed  on  the  ground,  as  if  she  were  pondering  some 
absorbing  subject. 

Little  could  her  literal,  hard-working  grandmother,  or  her 
artistic,  simple-minded  uncle,  or  the  dreamy  Mother  The 
resa,  or  her  austere  confessor,  know  of  the  strange  forcing 
process  which  they  were  all  together  uniting  to  carry  on  in 
the  mind  of  this  sensitive  young  girl.  Absolutely  secluded 
by  her  grandmother's  watchful  care  from  any  actual  knowl 
edge  and  experience  of  real  life,  she  had  no  practical  tests 
by  which  to  correct  the  dreams  of  that  inner  world  in  which 
she  delighted  to  live  and  move,  and  which  was  peopled  with 
martyrs,  saints,  and  angels,  whose  deeds  were  possible  or 
probable  only  in  the  most  exalted  regions  of  devout  poetry. 

So  she  gave  her  heart  at  once  and  without  reserve  to  an 
enthusiastic  desire  for  the  salvation  of  the  stranger,  whom 
Heaven,  she  believed,  had  directed  to  seek  her  interces 
sions  ;  and  when  the  spindle  drooped  from  her  hand,  and 
her  eyes  became  fixed  on  vacancy,  she  found  herself  won 
dering  who  he  might  really  be,  and  longing  to  know  yet 
a  little  more  of  him. 

Towards  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon,  a    hasty  mes- 

1  "  'Neath  Saint  Michael's  watch  is  given 
Peace  on  earth  and  peace  in  heaven." 


136  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

senger  came  to  summon  her  uncle  to  administer  the  last 
rites  to  a  man  who  had  just  fallen  from  a  building,  and 
who,  it  was  feared,  might  breathe  his  last  unshriven. 

"  Dear  daughter,  I  must  hasten  and  carry  Christ  to 
this  poor  sinner,"  said  the  monk,  hastily  putting  all  his 
sketches  and  pencils  into  her  lap.  "  Have  a  care  of  these 
till  I  return,  —  that  is  my  good  little  one  ! " 

Agnes  carefully  arranged  the  sketches  and  put  them  into 
the  book,  and  then,  kneeling  before  the  shrine,  began  prayers 
for  the  soul  of  the  dying  man. 

She  prayed  long  and  fervently,  and  so  absorbed  did  she 
become,  that  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  that  passed 
around  her. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  a  start  of  surprise,  as  she  rose  from 
prayer,  that  she  saw  the  cavalier  sitting  on  one  end  of  the 
marble  sarcophagus,  with  an  air  so  composed  and  melan 
choly  that  he  might  have  been  taken  for  one  of  the  mar 
ble  knights  that  sometimes  are  found  on  tombs. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me,  dear  Agnes,"  he  said,  with 
a  calm,  slow  utterance,  like  a  man  who  has  assumed  a  posi 
tion  he  means  fully  to  justify  ;  "  but  I  have  watched  day 
and  night,  ever  since  I  saw  you,  to  find  one  moment  to 
speak  with  you  alone." 

"  My  Lord,"  said  Agnes,  "  I  humbly  wait  your  pleasure. 
Anything  that  a  poor  maiden  may  rightly  do  I  will  endeav 
or,  in  all  loving  duty." 

"Whom  do  you  take  me  for,  Agnes,  that  you  speak 
thus  ? "  said  the  cavalier,  smiling  sadly. 

"  Are  you  not  the  brother  of  our  gracious  King  ?  "  said 
Agnes. 

"  No,  dear  maiden ;  and  if  the  kmd  promise  you  lately 
made  me  is  founded  on  this  mistake,  it  may  be  retracted." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  137 

"  No,  my  Lord,"  said  Agnes,  —  "  though  I  now  know  not 
who  you  are,  yet  if  in  any  strait  or  need  you  seek  such  poor 
prayers  as  mine,  God  forbid  I  should  refuse  them  ! " 

"  I  am,  indeed,  in  strait  and  need,  Agnes ;  the  sun  does 
not  shine  on  a  more  desolate  man  than  I  am,  —  one  more 
utterly  alone  in  the  world  ;  there  is  no  one  left  to  love  me. 
Agnes,  can  you  not  love  me  a  little  ?  —  let  it  be  ever  so 
little,  it  shall  content  me." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  words  of  this  purport  had  ever 
been  addressed  to  Agnes  ;  but  they  were  said  so  simply,  so 
sadly,  so  tenderly,  that  they  somehow  seemed  to  her  the 
most  natural  and  proper  things  in  the  world  to  be  said ; 
and  this  poor  handsome  knight,  who  looked  so  earnest  and 
sorrowful,  —  how  could  she  help  answering,  "  Yes  ?  "  From 
her  cradle  she  had  always  loved  everybody  and  everything, 
and  why  should  an  exception  be  made  in  behalf  of  a  very 
handsome,  very  strong,  yet  very  gentle  and  submissive 
human  being,  who  came  and  knocked  so  humbly  at  the  door 
of  her  heart  ?  Neither  Mary  nor  the  saints  had  taught  her 
to  be  hard-hearted. 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  she  said,  "  you  may  believe  that  I  will 
love  and  pray  for  you  ;  but  now,  you  must  leave  me,  and  not 
come  here  any  more,  —  because  grandmamma  would  not  be 
willing  that  I  should  talk  with  you,  and  it  would  be  wrong 
to  disobey  her,  she  is  so  very  good  to  me." 

"  But,  dear  Agnes,"  began  the  cavalier,  approaching  her, 
"  I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you,  —  I  have  much  to  tell 
you." 

"  But  I  know  grandmamma  would  not  be  willing,"  said 
Agnes  ;  "  indeed  you  must  not  come  here  any  more." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  stranger,  "  at  least  you  will  meet 
me  at  some  time,  —  tell  me  only  where." 


138  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  I  cannot,  —  indeed,  I  cannot,"  said  Agnes,  distressed  and 
embarrassed.  "  Even  now,  if  grandmamma  knew  you  were 
here,  she  would  be  so  angry." 

"  But  how  can  you  pray  for  me,  when  you  know  nothing 
of  me?" 

"  The  dear  Lord  knoweth  you,"  said  Agnes ;  "  and  when 
I  speak  of  you,  He  will  know  what  you  need." 

"  Ah,  dear  child,  how  fervent  is  your  faith !  Alas  for  me, 
I  have  lost  the  power  of  prayer !  I  have  lost  the  believing 
heart  my  mother  gave  me,  —  my  dear  mother  who  is  now  in 
heaven." 

"  Ah,  how  can  that  be  ?  "  said  Agnes.  "  Who  could  lose 
faith  in  so  dear  a  Lord  as  ours,  and  so  loving  a  mother  ?  " 

"  Agnes,  dear  little  lamb,  you  know  nothing  of  the  world ; 
and  I  should  be  most  wicked  to  disturb  your  lovely  peace  of 
soul  with  any  sinful  doubts.  Oh,  Agnes,  Agnes,  I  am  most 
miserable,  most  unworthy ! " 

"  Dear  Sir,  should  you  not  cleanse  your  soul  by  the  holy 
sacrament  of  confession,  and  receive  the  living  Christ  within 
you  ?  For  he  says,  '  Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing.'  " 

"  Oh,  Agnes,  sacrament  and  prayer  are  not  for  such  as  me ! 
It  is  only  through  your  pure  prayers  I  can  hope  for  grace." 

"  Dear  Sir,  I  have  an  uncle,  a  most  holy  man,  and  gentle 
as  a  lamb.  He  is  of  the  convent  San  Marco  in  Florence, 
where  there  is  a  most  holy  prophet  risen  up." 

"  Savonarola  ?  "  said  the  cavalier,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Yes,  that  is  he.  You  should  hear  my  uncle  talk  of 
him,  and  how  blessed  his  preaching  has  been  to  many  souls. 
Dear  Sir,  come  some  time  to  my  uncle." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  Elsie's  voice  was  heard  as 
cending  the  path  to  the  gorge  outside,  talking  with  Father 
Antonio,  who  was  returning. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  139 

Both  started,  and  Agnes  looked  alarmed. 

"  Fear  nothing,  sweet  lamb,"  said  the  cavalier ;  "  I  am 
gone." 

He  kneeled  and  kissed  the  hand  of  Agnes,  and  disap 
peared  at  one  bound  over  the  parapet  on  the  side  opposite 
that  which  they  were  approaching. 

Agnes  hastily  composed  herself,  struggling  with  that  half- 
guilty  feeling  which  is  apt  to  weigh  on  a  conscientious  nature 
that  has  been  unwittingly  drawn  to  act  a  part  which  would 
be  disapproved  by  those  whose  good  opinion  it  habitually 
seeks.  The  interview  had  but  the  more  increased  her  cu 
riosity  to  know  the  history  of  this  handsome  stranger.  Who, 
then,  could  he  be  ?  What  were  his  troubles  ?  She  wished 
the  interview  could  have  been  long  enough  to  satisfy  her 
mind  on  these  points.  From  the  richness  of  his  dress,  from 
his  air  and  manner,  from  the  poetry  and  the  jewel  that  ac 
companied  it,  she  felt  satisfied,  that,  if  not  what  she  supposed, 
he  was  at  least  nobly  born,  and  had  shone  in  some  splendid 
sphere  whose  habits  and  ways  were  far  beyond  her  simple 
experiences.  She  felt  towards  him  somewhat  of  the  awe 
which  a  person  of  her  condition  in  life  naturally  felt  toward 
that  brilliant  aristocracy  which  in  those  days  assumed  the 
state  of  princes,  and  the  members  of  which  were  supposed 
to  look  down  on  common  mortals  from  as  great  a  height  as 
the  stars  regard  the  humblest  flowers  of  the  field. 

"  How  strange,"  she  thought,  '*  that  he  should  think  so 
much  of  me  !  What  can  he  see  in  me  ?  And  how  can  it 
be  that  a  great  lord,  who  speaks  so  gently  and  is  so  reveren 
tial  to  a  poor  girl,  and  asks  prayers  so  humbly,  can  be  so 
wicked  and  unbelieving  as  he  says  he  is  ?  Dear  God,  it  can 
not  be  that  he  is  an  unbeliever ;  the  great  Enemy  has  been 
permitted  to  try  him,  to  suggest  doubts  to  him,  as  he  has  to 


140  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

holy  saints  before  now.  How  beautifully  he  spoke  about  his 
mother !  —  tears  glittered  in  his  eyes  then,  —  ah,  there  must 
be  grace  there  after  all !  " 

"  Well,  my  little  heart,"  said  Elsie,  interrupting  her  rev 
eries,  "  have  you  had  a  pleasant  day  ?  " 

"  Delightful,  grandmamma,"  said  Agnes,  blushing  deeply 
with  consciousness. 

"  Well,"  said  Elsie,  with  satisfaction,  "  one  thing  I  know, 
—  I  've  frightened  off  that  old  hawk  of  a  cavalier  with  his 
hooked  nose.  I  have  n't  seen  so  much  as  the  tip  of  his  shoe- 
tie  to-day.  Yesterday  he  made  himself  very  busy  around 
our  stall ;  but  I  made  him  understand  that  you  never  would 
come  there  again  till  the  coast  was  clear." 

The  monk  was  busily  retouching  the  sketch  of  the  Virgin  of 
the  Annunciation.  He  looked  up,  and  saw  Agnes  standing 
gazing  towards  the  setting  sun,  the  pale  olive  of  her  cheek 
deepening  into  a  crimson  flush.  His  head  was  too  full  of  his 
own  work  to  give  much  heed  to  the  conversation  that  had 
passed,  but,  looking  at  the  glowing  face,  he  said  to  himself,  — 

"  Truly,  sometimes  she  might  pass  for  the  rose  of  Sharon 
as  well  as  the  lily  of  the  valley  !  " 

The  moon  that  evening  rose  an  hour  later  than  the  night 
before,  yet  found  Agnes  still  on  her  knees  before  the  sacred 
shrine,  while  Elsie,  tired,  grumbled  at  the  draft  on  her  sleep 
ing-time. 

"  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast,"  she  remarked  between  her 
teeth  ;  'still  she  had,  after  all,  too  much  secret  reverence  for 
her  grandchild's  piety  openly  to  interrupt  her.  But  in  those 
days,  as  now,  there  were  the  material  and  the  spiritual,  the 
souls  who  looked  only  on  things  that  could  be  seen,  touched, 
and  tasted,  and  souls  who  looked  on  the  things  that  were 
invisible. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  141 

Agnes  was  pouring  out  her  soul  in  that  kind  of  yearning, 
passionate  prayer  possible  to  intensely  sympathetic  people, 
in  which  the  interests  and  wants  of  another  seem  to  annihi 
late  for  a  time  personal  consciousness,  and  make  the  whole 
of  one's  being  seem  to  dissolve  in  an  intense  solicitude  for 
something  beyond  one's  self.  In  such  hours  prayer  ceases 
to  be  an  act  of  the  will,  and  resembles  more  some  over 
powering  influence  which  floods  the  soul  from  without,  bear 
ing  all  its  faculties  away  on  its  resistless  tide. 

Brought  up  from  infancy  to  feel  herself  in  a  constant  cir 
cle  of  invisible  spiritual  agencies,  Agnes  received  this  wave 
of  intense  feeling  as  an  impulse  inspired  and  breathed  into 
her  by  some  celestial  spirit,  that  thus  she  should  be  made  an 
interceding  medium  for  a  soul  in  some  unknown  strait  or 
peril.  For  her  faith  taught  her  to  believe  in  an  infinite 
struggle  of  intercession  in  which  all  the  Church  Visible  and 
Invisible  were  together  engaged,  and  which  bound  them  in 
living  bonds  of  sympathy  to  an  interceding  Redeemer,  so 
that  there  was  no  want  or  woe  of  human  life  that  had  not 
somewhere  its  sympathetic  heart,  and  its  never-ceasing 
prayer  before  the  throne  of  Eternal  Love.  Whatever 
may  be  thought  of  the  actual  truth  of  this  belief,  it  cer 
tainly  was  far  more  consoling  than  that  intense  individualism 
of  modern  philosophy  which  places  every  soul  alone  in  its 
life-battle,  —  scarce  even  giving  it  a  God  to  lean  upon. 


142  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER    XL 

THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

THE  reader,  if  a  person  of  any  common  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  will  easily  see  the  direction  in  which  a  young, 
inexperienced,  and  impressible  girl  would  naturally  be  tend 
ing  under  all  the  influences  which  we  perceive  to  have  come 
upon  her. 

But  in  the  religious  faith  which  Agnes  professed  there  was 
a  modifying  force,  whose  power  both  for  good  and  evil  can 
scarcely  be  estimated. 

The  simple  Apostolic  direction,  "  Confess  your  faults  one 
to  another,"  and  the  very  natural  need  of  personal  pastoral 
guidance  and  assistance  to  a  soul  in  its  heavenward  journey, 
had  in  common  with  many  other  religious  ideas  been  forced 
by  the  volcanic  fervor  of  the  Italian  nature  into  a  certain 
exaggerated  proposition.  Instead  of  brotherly  confession 
one  to  another,  or  the  pastoral  sympathy  of  a  fatherly  elder, 
the  religious  mind  of  the  day  was  instructed  in  an  awful 
mysterious  sacrament  of  confession,  which  gave  to  some 
human  being  a  divine  right  to  unlock  the  most  secret  cham 
bers  of  the  soul,  to  scrutinize  and  direct  its  most  veiled  and 
intimate  thoughts,  and,  standing  in  God's  stead,  to  direct  the 
current  of  its  most  sensitive  and  most  mysterious  emo 
tions. 

Every  young  aspirant  for  perfection  in  the  religious  life 
had  to  commence  by  an  unreserved  surrender  of  the  whole 
being  in  blind  faith  at  the  feet  of  some  such  spiritual  director, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  143 

all  whose  questions  must  be  answered,  and  all  whose  injunc 
tions  obeyed,  as  from  God  himself.  Thenceforward  was  to 
be  no  soul-privacy,  no  retirement,  nothing  too  sacred  to  be 
expressed,  too  delicate  to  be  handled  and  analyzed.  In  read 
ing  the  lives  of  those  ethereally  made  and  moulded  women 
who  have  come  down  to  our  day  canonized  as  saints  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  communion,  one  too  frequently  gets  the 
impression  of  most  regal  natures,  gifted  with  all  the  most 
divine  elements  of  humanity,  but  subjected  to  a  constant 
unnatural  pressure  from  the  ceaseless  scrutiny  and  ungenial 
pertinacity  of  some  inferior  and  uncomprehending  person 
invested  with  the  authority  of  a  Spiritual  Director. 

That  there  are  advantages  attending  this  species  of  inti 
mate  direction,  when  wisely  and  skilfully  managed,  cannot  be 
doubted.  Grovelling  and  imperfect  natures  have  often  thus 
been  lifted  up  and  carried  in  the  arms  of  superior  wisdom 
and  purity.  The  confession  administered  by  a  Fenelon  or  a 
Francis  de  Sales  was  doubtless  a  beautiful  and  most  invigo 
rating  ordinance;  but  the  difficulty  in  its  actual  working  is 
the  rarity  of  such  superior  natures,  —  the  fact,  that  the  most 
ignorant  and  most  incapable  may  be  invested  with  precisely 
the  same  authority  as  the  most  intelligent  and  skilful. 

He  to  whom  the  faith  of  Agnes  obliged  her  to  lay  open 
her  whole  soul,  who  had  a  right  with  probing-knife  and 
lancet  to  dissect  all  the  finest  nerves  and  fibres  of  her 
womanly  nature,  was  a  man  who  had  been  through  all  the 
wild  and  desolating  experiences  incident  to  a  dissipated  and 
irregular  life  in  those  turbulent  days. 

It  is  true,  that  he  was  now  with  most  stringent  and  earnest 
solemnity  striving  to  bring  every  thought  and  passion  into 
captivity  to  the  spirit  of  his  sacred  vows ;  but  still,  when  a 
man  has  once  lost  that  unconscious  soul-purity  which  exists 


144  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

in  a  mind  unscathed  by  the  fires  of  passion,  no  after-tears 
can  weep  it  back  again.  No  penance,  no  prayer,  no  anguish 
of  remorse  can  give  back  the  simplicity  of  a  soul  that  has 
never  been  stained. 

II  Padre  Francesco  had  not  failed  to  make  those  inquiries 
into  the  character  of  Agnes's  mysterious  lover  which  he 
assumed  to  be  necessary  as  a  matter  of  pastoral  faithful 
ness.  ' 

It  was  not  difficult  for  one  possessing  the  secrets  of  the 
confessional  to  learn  the  real  character  of  any  person  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  it  was  with  a  kind  of  bitter  satisfaction 
which  rather  surprised  himself  that  the  father  learned 
enough  ill  of  the  cavalier  to  justify  his  using  every  possible 
measure  to  prevent  his  forming  any  acquaintance  with 
Agnes.  He  was  captain  of  a  band  of  brigands,  and,  of 
course,  in  array  against  the  State  ;  he  was  excommunicated, 
and,  of  course,  an  enemy  of  the  Church.  What  but  the 
vilest  designs  could  be  attributed  to  such  a  man  ?  Was  he 
not  a  wolf  prowling  round  the  green,  secluded  pastures 
where  as  yet  the  Lord's  lamb  had  been  folded  in  unconscious 
innocence  ? 

Father  Francesco,  when  he  next  met  Agnes  at  the  confes 
sional,  put  such  questions  as  drew  from  her  the  whole 
account  of  all  that  had  passed  between  her  and  the  stranger. 
The  recital  on  Agnes's  part  was  perfectly  translucent  and 
pure,  for  she  had  said  no  word  and  had  had  no  thought  that 
brought  the  slightest  stain  upon  her  soul.  Love  and  prayer 
had  been  the  prevailing  habit  of  her  life,  and  in  promising 
to  love  and  pray,  she  had  had  no  worldly  or  earthly  thought. 
The  language  of  gallantry,  or  even  of  sincere  passion,  had 
never  reached  her  ear ;  but  it  had  always  been  as  natural  to 
her  to  love  every  human  being  as  for  a  plant  with  tendrils  to 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  145 

throw  them  round  the  next  plant,  and  therefore  she  enter 
tained  the  gentle  guest  who  had  lately  found  room  in  her 
heart  without  a  question  or  a  scruple. 

As  Agnes  related  her  childlike  story  of  unconscious  faith 
and  love,  her  listener  felt  himself  strangely  and  bitterly  agi 
tated.  It  was  a  vision  of  ignorant  purity  and  unconscious 
ness  rising  before  him,  airy  and  glowing  as  a  child's  soap- 
bubble,  which  one  touch  might  annihilate;  but  he  felt  a 
strange  remorseful  tenderness,  a  yearning  admiration,  at  its 
unsubstantial  purity.  There  is  something  pleading  and 
pitiful  in  the  simplicity  of  perfect  ignorance,  —  a  rare  and 
delicate  beauty  in  its  freshness,  like  the  morning-glory  cup, 
which,  once  withered  by  the  heat,  no  second  morning  can 
restore.  Agnes  had  imparted  to  her  confessor,  by  a  myste 
rious  sympathy,  something  like  the  morning  freshness  of  her 
own  soul ;  she  had  redeemed  the  idea  of  womanhood  from 
gross  associations,  and  set  before  him  a  fair  ideal  of  all  that 
female  tenderness  and  purity  may  teach  to  man.  Her 
prayers,  —  well  he  believed  in  them,  —  but  he  set  his  teeth 
with  a  strange  spasm  of  inward  passion,  when  he  thought  of 
her  prayers  and  love  being  given  to  another.  He  tried  to 
persuade  himself  that  this  was  only  the  fervor  of  pastoral 
zeal  against  a  vile  robber  who  had  seized  the  fairest  lamb 
of  the  sheepfold  ;  but  there  was  an  intensely  bitter,  miserable 
feeling  connected  with  it,  that  scorched  and  burned  his 
higher  aspirations  like  a  stream  of  lava  running  among 
fresh  leaves  and  flowers. 

The  conflict  of  his  soul  communicated  a  severity  of 
earnestness  to  his  voice  and  manner  which  made  Agnes 
tremble,  as  he  put  one  probing  question  after  another, 
designed  to  awaken  some  consciousness  of  sin  in  her  soul. 
Still,  though  troubled  and  distressed  by  his  apparent  disap 
7 


146  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.    * 

probation,  her  answers  came  always  clear,  honest,  unfalter 
ing,  like  those  of  one  who  could  not  form  an  idea  of 
evil. 

When  the  confession  was  over,  he  came  out  of  his  recess 
to  speak  with  Agnes  a  few  words  face  to  face.  His  eyes 
had  a  wild  and  haggard  earnestness,  and  a  vivid  hectic  flush 
on  either  cheek  told  how  extreme  was  his  emotion.  Agnes 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his  with  an  innocent  wondering  trouble  and 
an  appealing  confidence  that  for  a  moment  wholly  unnerved 
him.  He  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  ;  and 
for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  him  he  would  sacrifice  heaven  and 
brave  hell,  if  he  could  for  one  moment  hold  her  to  his  heart, 
and  say  that  he  loved  her,  —  her,  the  purest,  fairest,  sweet 
est  revelation  of  God's  love  that  had  ever  shone  on  his  soul, 
—  her,  the  only  star,  the  only  flower,  the  only  dew-drop  of 
a  burning,  barren,  weary  life.  It  seemed  to  him  that  it  was 
not  the  longing,  gross  passion,  but  the  outcry  of  his  whole 
nature  for  something  noble,  sweet,  and  divine. 

But  he  turned  suddenly  away  with  a  sort  of  groan,  and, 
folding  his  robe  over  his  face,  seemed  engaged  in  earnest 
prayer.  Agnes  looked  at  him  awe-struck  and  breathless. 

"  Oh,  my  father  !  "  she  faltered,  "  what  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  my  poor  child,"  said  the  father,  suddenly  turn 
ing  toward  her  with  recovered  calmness  and  dignity ;  "  but 
I  behold  in  thee  a  fair  lamb  whom  the  roaring  lion  is  seek 
ing  to  devour.  Know,  my  daughter,  that  I  have  made 
inquiries  concerning  this  man  of  whom  you  speak,  and  find 
that  he  is  an  outlaw  and  a  robber  and  a  heretic,  —  a  vile 
wretch  stained  by  crimes  that  have  justly  drawn  down  upon 
him  the  sentence  of  excommunication  from  our  Holy  Father 
the  Pope." 

Agnes  grew  deadly  pale  at  this  announcement. 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  147 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?  "  she  gasped.  "  Alas !  what  dread 
ful  temptations  have  driven  him  to  such  sins?" 

"  Daughter,  beware  how  you  think  too  lightly  of  them,  or 
suffer  his  good  looks  and  flattering  words  to  blind  you  to 
their  horror.  You  must  from  your  heart  detest  him  as  a 
vile  enemy." 

"  Must  I,  my  father  ?  " 

"  Indeed  you  must." 

"  But  if  the  dear  Lord  loved  us  and  died  for  us  when  we 
were  his  enemies,  may  we  not  pity  and  pray  for  unbelievers  ? 
Oh,  say,  my  dear  father,  is  it  not  allowed  to  us  to  pray  for 
all  sinners,  even  the  vilest?" 

"  I  do  not  say  that  you  may  not,  my  daughter,"  said  the 
monk,  too  conscientious  to  resist  the  force  of  this  direct 
appeal ;  "  but,  daughter,"  he  added,  with  an  energy  that 
alarmed  Agnes,  "  you  must  watch  your  heart ;  you  must  not 
suffer  your  interest  to  become  a  worldly  love  :  remember 
that  you  are  chosen  to  be  the  espoused  of  Christ  alone." 

"While  the  monk  was  speaking  thus,  Agnes  fixed  on  him 
her  eyes  with  an  innocent  mixture  of  surprise  and  perplex 
ity,  which  gradually  deepened  into  a  strong  gravity  of  gaze, 
as  if  she  were  looking  through  him,  through  all  visible  things 
into  some  far-off  depth  of  mysterious  knowledge. 

"  My  Lord  will  keep  me,"  she  said ;  "  my  soul  is  safe  in 
His  heart  as  a  little  bird  in  its  nest ;  but  while  I  love  Him, 
I  cannot  help  loving  everybody  whom  He  loves,  even  His 
enemies :  and,  father,  my  heart  prays  within  me  for  this 
poor  sinner,  whether  I  will  or  no ;  something  within  me 
continually  intercedes  for  him." 

"  Oh,  Agnes !  Agnes  !  blessed  child,  pray  for  me  also,"  said 
the  monk,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  emotion  which  perfectly 
confounded  his  disciple.  He  hid  his  face  with  his  hands. 


148  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  My  blessed  father ! "  said  Agnes,  "  how  could  I  deern 
that  holiness  like  yours  had  any  need  of  my  prayers  ? " 

"  Child  !  child  !  you  know  nothing  of  me.  I  am  a  miser 
able  sinner,  tempted  of  devils,  in  danger  of  damnation." 

Agnes  stood  appalled  at  this  sudden  burst,  so  different 
from  the  rigid  and  restrained  severity  of  tone  in  which  the 
greater  part  of  the  conversation  had  been  conducted.  She 
stood  silent  and  troubled  ;  while  he,  whom  she  had  always 
regarded  with  such  awful  veneration,  seemed  shaken  by 
some  internal  whirlwind  of  emotion  whose  nature  she  could 
not  comprehend. 

At  length  Father  Francesco  raised  his  head,  and  recov 
ered  his  wonted  calm  severity  of  expression. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  "  little  do  the  innocent  lambs  of 
the  flock  know  of  the  dangers  and  conflicts  through  which 
the  shepherds  must  pass  who  keep  the  Lord's  fold.  We 
have  the  labors  of  angels  laid  upon  us,  and  we  are  but  men. 
Often  we  stumble,  often  we  faint,  and  Satan  takes  advantage 
of  our  weakness.  I  cannot  confer  with  you  now  as  I  would ; 
but,  my  child,  listen  to  my  directions.  Shun  this  young 
man ;  let  nothing  ever  lead  you  to  listen  to  another  word 
from  him ;  you  must  not  even  look  at  him,  should  you  meet, 
but  turn  away  your  head  and  repeat  a  prayer.  I  do  not 
forbid  you  to  practise  the  holy  work  of  intercession  for  his 
soul,  but  it  must  be  on  these  conditions." 

"  My  father,"  said  Agnes,  "  you  may  rely  on  my  obedi 
ence";  and,  kneeling,  she  kissed  his  hand. 

He  drew  it  suddenly  away,  with  a  gesture  of  pain  and 
displeasure. 

"  Pardon  a  sinful  child  this  liberty,"  said  Agnes. 

"  You  know  not  what  you  do,"  said  the  father,  hastily. 
"  Go,  my  daughter,  —  go  at  once ;  I  will  confer  with  you 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  149 

some  other  time ; "  and  hastily  raising  his  hand  in  an  atti 
tude  of  benediction,  he  turned  and  went  into  the  confes 
sional. 

"  Wretch  !  hypocrite !  whited  sepulchre ! "  he  said  to  him 
self,  —  "  to  warn  this  innocent  child  against  a  sin  that  is  all 
the  while  burning  in  my  own  bosom !  Yes,  I  do  love  her, 
—  I  do!  I,  that  warn  her  against  earthly  love,  I  would 
plunge  into  hell  itself  to  win  hers !  And  yet,  when  I  know 
that  the  care  of  her  soul  is  only  a  temptation  and  a  snare  to 
me,  I  cannot,  will  not  give  her  up  !  No,  I  cannot !  —  no,  I 
will  not !  Why  should  I  not  love  her  ?  Is  she  not  pure  as 
Mary  herself?  Ah,  blessed  is  he  whom  such  a  woman 
leads  !  And  I  —  I  —  have  condemned  myself  to  the  society 
of  swinish,  ignorant,  stupid  monks,  —  I  must  know  no  such 
divine  souls,  no  such  sweet  communion !  Help  me,  blessed 
Mary !  —  help  a  miserable  sinner !  " 

Agnes  left  the  confessional  perplexed  and  sorrowful.  The 
pale,  proud,  serious  face  of  the  cavalier  seemed  to  look  at 
her  imploringly,  and  she  thought  of  him  now  with  the  pa 
thetic  interest  we  give  to  something  noble  and  great  exposed 
to  some  fatal  danger.  "  Could  the  sacrifice  of  my  whole 
life,"  she  thought,  "  rescue  this  noble  soul  from  perdition, 
then  I  shall  not  have  lived  in  vain.  I  am  a  poor  little  girl ; 
nobody  knows  whether  I  live  or  die.  He  is  a  s.trong  and 
powerful  man,  and  many  must  stand  or  fall  with  him.  Bless 
ed  be  the  Lord  that  gives  to  his  lowly  ones  a  power  to  work 
in  secret  places  !  How  blessed  should  I  be  to  meet  him  in 
Paradise,  all  splendid  as  I  saw  him  in  my  dream !  Oh,  that 
would  be  worth  living  for,  —  worth  dying  for ! " 


150  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PERPLEXITIES. 

AGNES  returned  from  the  confessional  with  more  sad 
ness  than  her  simple  life  had  ever  known  before.  The 
agitation  of  her  confessor,  the  tremulous  eagerness  of  his 
words,  the  alternations  of  severity  and  tenderness  in  his 
manner  to  her,  all  struck  her  only  as  indications  of  the 
very  grave  danger  in  which  she  was  placed,  and  the  awful- 
ness  of  the  sin  and  condemnation  which  oppressed  the  soul 
of  one  for  whom  she  was  conscious  of  *a  deep  and  strange 
interest. 

She  had  the  undoubting,  uninquiring  reverence  which  a 
Christianly  educated  child  of  those  times  might  entertain  for 
the  visible  head  of  the  Christian  Church,  all  whose  doings 
were  to  be  regarded  with  an  awful  veneration  which  never 
even  raised  a  question. 

That  the  Papal  throne  was  now  filled  by  a  man  who  had 
bought  his  election  with  the  wages  of  iniquity,  and  dispensed 
its  powers  and  offices  with  sole  reference  to  the  aggrandize 
ment  of  a  family  proverbial  for  brutality  and  obscenity,  was 
a  fact  well  known  to  the  reasoning  and  enlightened  orders 
of  society  at  this  time ;  but  it  did  not  penetrate  into  those 
lowly  valleys  where  the  sheep  of  the  Lord  humbly  pastured, 
innocently  unconscious  of  the  frauds  and  violence  by  which 
their  dearest  interests  were  bought  and  sold. 

The  Christian  faith  we  now  hold,  who  boast  our  enlight- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  151 

ened  Protestantism,  has  been  transmitted  to  us  through  the 
hearts  and  hands  of  such,  —  who,  while  princes  wrangled 
with  Pope,  and  Pope  with  princes,  knew  nothing  of  it  all, 
but  in  lowly  ways  of  prayer  and  patient  labor,  were  one 
with  us  of  modern  times  in  the  great  central  belief  of  the 
Christian  heart,  "  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  was  slain." 

As  Agnes  came  slowly  up  the  path  towards  the  little 
garden,  she  was  conscious  of  a  burden  and  weariness  of 
spirit  she  had  never  known  before.  She  passed  the  little 
moist  grotto,  which  in  former  times  she  never  failed  to  visit 
to  see  if  there  were  any  new-blown  cyclamen,  without  giving 
it  even  a  thought.  A  crimson  spray  of  gladiolus  leaned 
from  the  rock  and  seemed  softly  to  kiss  her  cheek,  yet  she 
regarded  it  not ;  and  once  stopping  and  gazing  abstractedly 
upward  on  the  flower-tapestried  walls  of  the  gorge,  as  they 
rose  in  wreath  and  garland  and  festoon  above  her,  she  felt 
as  if  the  brilliant  yellow  of  the  broom  and  the  crimson  of  the 
gillyflowers,  and  all  the  fluttering,  nodding  armies  of  bright 
ness  that  were  dancing  in  the  sunlight,  were  too  gay  for 
such  a  world  as  this,  where  mortal  sins  and  sorrows  made 
such  havoc  with  all  that  seemed  brightest  and  best,  and  she 
longed  to  fly  away  and  be  at  rest. 

Just  then  she  heard  the  cheerful  voice  of  her  uncle  in  the 
little  garden  above,  as  he  was  singing  at  his  painting.  The 
words  were  those  of  that  old  Latin  hymn  of  Saint  Bernard, 
which,  in  its  English  dress,  has  thrilled  many  a  Methodist 
class-meeting  and  many  a  Puritan  conference,  telling,  in  the 
welcome  they  meet  in  each  Christian  soul,  that  there  is  a 
unity  in  Christ's  Church  which  is  not  outward,  —  a  secret, 
invisible  bond,  by  which,  under  warring  names  and  badges 
of  opposition,  His  true  followers  have  yet  been  one  in  Him, 
even  though  they  discerned  it  not. 


152  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

''Jesu  dulcis  memoria, 
Dans  vera  cordi  gaudia: 
Sed  super  mel  et  omnia 
Ejus  dulcis  prsesentia. 

"Nil  canitur  suavius, 
Nil  auditur  jocundius, 
Nil  cogitatur  dulcius, 
Quam  Jesus  Dei  Filius. 

"  Jesu,  spes  poenitentibus, 
Quam  pius  es  petentibus, 
Quam  bonus  te  quserentibus, 
Sed  quis  invenientibus ! 

"Nee  lingua  valet  dicere, 
Nee  littera  exprimere: 
Expertus  potest  credere 
Quid  sit  Jesum  diligere."  * 

The  old  monk  sang  with  all  his  heart ;  and  his  voice, 
which  had  been  a  fine  one  in  its  day,  had  still  that  power 
which  comes  from  the  expression  of  deep  feeling.  One  often 

*  Jesus,  the  very  thought  of  thee 

With  sweetness  fills  my  breast; 
But  sweeter  far  thy  face  to  see, 
And  in  thy  presence  rest ! 

Nor  voice  can  sing,  nor  heart  can  frame, 

Nor  can  the  memory  find 
A  sweeter  sound  than  thy  blest  name, 

O  Saviour  of  mankind ! 

0  hope  of  every  contrite  heart, 

O  joy  of  all  the  meek, 
To  those  who  fall  how  kind  thou  art, 

How  good  to  those  who  seek ! 

But  what  to  those  who  find !    Ah,  this 

Nor  tongue  nor  pen  can  show ! 
The  love  of  Jesus,  what  it  is 

None  but  his  loved  ones  know. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  153 

hears  this  peculiarity  in  the  voices  of  persons  of  genius  and 
sensibility,  even  when  destitute  of  any  real  critical  merit. 
They  seem  to  be  so  interfused  with  the  emotions  of  the  soul, 
that  they  strike  upon  the  heart  almost  like  the  living  touch 
of  a  spirit. 

Agnes  was  soothed  in  listening  to  him.  The  Latin  words, 
the  sentiment  of  which  had  been  traditional  in  the  Church 
from  time  immemorial,  had  to  her  a  sacred  fragrance  and 
odor  ;  they  were  words  apart  from  all  common  usage,  a  sac 
ramental  language,  never  heard  but  in  moments  of  devotion 
and  aspiration,  —  and  they  stilled  the  child's  heart  in  its 
tossings  and  tempest,  as  when  of  old  the  Jesus  they  spake 
of  walked  forth  on  the  stormy  sea. 

"  Yes,  He  gave  His  life  for  us  ! "  she  said  ;  "  He  is  ever 
reigning  for  us ! 

"  '  Jesu  dulcissime,  e  throno  gloriae 
Ovem  deperditara  venisti  quserere! 
Jesu  suavissime,  pastor  fidissime, 
Ad  te  0  trahe  me,  ut  semper  sequar  te! '  "  * 

"  What,  my  little  one  !  "  said  the  monk,  looking  over  the 
wall ;  "  I  thought  I  heard  angels  singing.  Is  it  not  a  beau 
tiful  morning  ?  " 

"  Dear  uncle,  it  is,"  said  Agnes.  "  And  I  have  been  so 
glad  to  hear  your  beautiful  hymn  !  —  it  comforted  me/' 

"  Comforted  you,  little  heart  ?  What  a  word  is  that ! 
When  you  get  as  far  along  on  your  journey  as  your  old 
uncle,  then  you  may  talk  of  comfort.  But  who  thinks  of 
comforting  birds  or  butterflies  or  young  lambs  ? " 

*  Jesus  most  beautiful,  from  thrones  in  glory, 

Seeking  thy  lost  sheep,  thou  didst  descend ! 
Jesus  most  tender,  shepherd  most  faithful, 
To  thee,  oh,  draw  thou  me,  that  I  may  follow  thee, 
Follow  thee  faithfully  world  without  end ! 
7* 


154  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Ah,  dear  uncle,  I  am  not  so  very  happy,"  said  Agnes, 
the  tears  starting  into  her  eyes. 

"  Not  happy  ?  "  said  the  monk,  looking  up  from  his  draw 
ing.  "  Pray,  what 's  the  matter  now  ?  Has  a  bee  stung 
your  finger  ?  or  have  you  lost  your  nosegay  over  a  rock  ?  or 
what  dreadful  affliction  has  come  upon  you?  —  hey,  my  little 
heart?" 

Agnes  sat  down  on  the  corner  of  the  marble  fountain, 
and,  covering  her  face  with  her  apron,  sobbed  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

"  What  has  that  old  priest  been  saying  to  her  in  the  con 
fession  ?  "  said  Father  Antonio  to  himself.  "  I  dare  say  he 
cannot  understand  her.  She  is  as  pure  as  a  dew-drop  on  a 
cobweb,  and  as  delicate;  and  these  priests,  half  of  them 
don't  know  how  to  handle  the  Lord's  lambs.  —  Come  now, 
little  Agnes,"  he  said,  with  a  coaxing  tone,  "  what  is  its 
trouble  ?  —  tell  its  old  uncle,  — •  there 's  a  dear  ! " 

"  Ah,  uncle,  I  can't ! "  said  Agnes,  between  her  sobs. 

"  Can't  tell  its  uncle  !  —  there  's  a  pretty  go  !  Perhaps 
you  will  tell  grandmamma  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no  !  not  for  the  world  ! "  said  Agnes,  sobbing 
still  more  bitterly. 

"  Why,  really,  little  hef.rt  of  mine,  this  is  getting  serious," 
said  the  monk  ;  "  let  your  old  uncle  try  to  help  you." 

"  It  is  n't  for  myself,"  said  Agnes,  endeavoring  to  check 
her  feelings,  —  "it  is  not  for  myself,  —  it  is  for  another,  — 
for  a  soul  lost.  Ah,  my  Jesus,  have  mercy  !  " 

"A  soul  lost?  Our  Mother  forbid!"  said  the  monk, 
crossing  himself.  "Lost  in  this  Christian  land,  so  over 
flowing  with  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  ?  —  lost  out  of  this  fair 
sheepfold  of  Paradise  ?  " 

"Yes,  lost,"  said  Agnes,  despairingly,  —  "and  if  some- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  155 

body  do  not  save  him,  lost  forever ;  and  it  is  a  brave  and 
noble  soul,  too,  —  like  one  of  the  angels  that  fell." 

"  Who  is  it  dear  ?  —  tell  me  about  it,"  said  the  monk. 
"  I  am  one  of  the  shepherds  whose  place  it  is  to  go  after 
that  which  is  lost,  even  till  I  find  it." 

"  Dear  uncle,  you  remember  the  youth  who  suddenly 
appeared  to  us  in  the  moonlight  here  a  few  evenings 
ago  ?  " 

"  Ah,  indeed !  "  said  the  monk,  —  "  what  of  him  ?  " 

"  Father  Francesco  has  told  me  dreadful  things  of  him 
this  morning." 

"  What  things  ?  " 

"  Uncle,  he  is  excommunicated  by  our  Holy  Father  the 
Pope." 

Father  Antonio,  as  a  member  of  one  of  the  most  enlight 
ened  and  cultivated  religious  orders  of  the  times,  and  as  an 
intimate  companion  and  disciple  of  Savonarola,  had  a  full 
understanding  of  the  character  of  the  reigning  Pope,  and 
therefore  had  his"  own  private  opinion  of  how  much  his 
excommunication  was  likely  to  be  worth  in  the  invisible 
world.  He  knew  that  the  same  doom  had  been  threatened 
towards  his  saintly  master,  for  opposing  and  exposing  the 
scandalous  vices  which  disgraced  the  high  places  of  the 
Church;  so  that,  on  the  whole,  when  he  heard  that  this 
young  man  was  excommunicated,  so  far  from  being  im 
pressed  with  horror  towards  him,  he  conceived  the  idea 
that  he  might  be  a  particularly  honest  fellow  and  good 
Christian.  But  then  he  did  not  hold  it  wise  to  disturb 
the  faith  of  the  simple-hearted  by  revealing  to  them  the 
truth  about  the  head  of  the  Church  on  earth. 

While  the  disorders  in  those  elevated  regions  filled  the 
minds  of  the  intelligent  classes  with  apprehension  and  alarm, 


156  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

they  held  it  unwise  to  disturb  the  trustful  simplicity  of  the 
lower  orders,  whose  faith  in  Christianity  itself  they  supposed 
might  thus  be  shaken.  In  fact,  they  were  themselves  some 
what  puzzled  how  to  reconcile  the  patent  and  manifest  fact, 
that  the  actual  incumbent  of  the  Holy  See  was  not  under 
the  guidance  of  any  spirit,  unless  it  were  a  diabolical  one, 
with  the  theory  which  supposed  an  infallible  guidance  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  to  attend  as  a  matter  of  course  on  that  position. 
Some  of  the  boldest  of  them  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  that 
the  Holy  City  had  suffered  a  foul  invasion,  and  that  a  false 
usurper  reigned  in  her  sacred  palaces  in  place  of  th£  Father 
of  Christendom.  The  greater  part  did  as  people  now  do 
with  the  mysteries  and  discrepancies  of  a  faith  which  on 
the  whole  they  revere :  they  turned  their  attention  from  the 
vexed  question,  and  sighed  and  longed  for  better  days. 

Father  Antonio  did  not,  therefore,  tell  Agnes  that  the 
announcement  which  had  filled  her  with  such  distress  was 
far  less  conclusive  with  himself  of  the  ill  desert  of  the  in 
dividual  to  whom  it  related. 

"  My  little  heart,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "  did  you  learn 
the  sin  for  which  this  young  man  was  excommunicated  ?  " 

"  Ah,  me !  my  dear  uncle,  I  fear  he  is  an  infidel,  —  an 
unbeliever.  Indeed,  now  I  remember  it,  he  confessed  as 
much  to  me  the  other  day." 

"  Where  did  he  tell  you  this  ?  " 

"  You  remember,  my  uncle,  when  you  were  sent  for  to 
the  dying  man  ?  When  you  were  gone,  I  kneeled  down  to 
pray  for  his  soul ;  and  when  I  rose  from  prayer,  this  young 
cavalier  was  sitting  right  here,  on  this  end  of  the  fountain. 
He  was  looking  fixedly  at  me,  with  such  sad  eyes,  so  full  of 
longing  and  pain,  that  it  was  quite  piteous ;  and  he  spoke  to 
me  so  sadly,  I  could  not  but  pity  him." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  157 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you,  child  ?  " 

"  Ah,  father,  he  said  that  he  was  all  alone  in  the  world, 
without  friends,  and  utterly  desolate,  with  no  one  to  love 
him ;  but  worse  than  that,  he  said  he  had  lost  his  faith,  that 
he  could  not  believe." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  Uncle,  I  tried,  as  a  poor  girl  might,  to  do  him  some  good. 
I  prayed  him  to  confess  and  take  the  sacrament ;  but  he 
looked  almost  fierce  when  I  said  so.  And  yet  I  cannot  but 
think,  after  all,  that  he  has  not  lost  all  grace,  because  he  begged 
me  so  earnestly  to  pray  for  him ;  he  said  his  prayers  could 
do  no  good,  and  wanted  mine.  And  then  I  began  to  tell  him 
about  you,  dear  uncle,  and  how  you  came  from  that  blessed 
convent  in  Florence,  and  about  your  master  Savonarola ;  and 
that  seemed  to  interest  him,  for  he  looked  quite  excited,  and 
spoke  the  name  over,  as  if  it  were  one  he  had  heard  before. 
I  wanted  to  urge  him  to  come  and  open  his  case  to  you ;  and 
I  think  perhaps  I  might  have  succeeded,  but  that  just  then 
you  and  grandmamma  came  up  the  path ;  and  when  I  heard 
you  coming,  I  begged  him  to  go,  because  you  know  grand 
mamma  would  be  very  angry,  if  she  knew  that  I  had  given 
speech  to  a  man,  even  for  a  few  moments ;  she  thinks  men 
are  so  dreadful." 

"  I  must  seek  this  youth,"  said  the  monk,  in  a  musing 
tone ;  "  perhaps  I  may  find  out  what  inward  temptation 
hath  driven  him  away  from  the  fold." 

"  Oh,  do,  dear  uncle  !  do  !  "  said  Agnes,  earnestly.  "  I 
am  sure  that  he  has  been  grievously  tempted  and  misled,  for 
he  seems  to  have  a  noble  and  gentle  nature ;  and  he  spoke 
so  feelingly  of  his  mother,  who  is  a  saint  in  heaven ;  and 
he  seemed  so  earnestly  to  long  to  return  to  the  bosom  of  the 
Church." 


158  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

"  The  Church  is  a  tender  mother  to  all  her  erring  chil 
dren,"  said  the  monk. 

"And  don't  you  think  that  our  dear  Holy  Father  the 
Pope  will  forgive  him  ? "  said  Agnes.  "  Surely,  he  will 
have  all  the  meekness  and  gentleness  of  Christ,  who  would 
rejoice  in  one  sheep  found  more  than  in  all  the  ninety-and- 
nine  who  went  not  astray." 

The  monk  could  scarcely  repress  a  smile  at  imagining 
Alexander  the  Sixth  in  this  character  of  a  good  shepherd, 
as  Agnes's  enthusiastic  imagination  painted  the  head  of  the 
Church ;  and  then  he  gave  an  inward  sigh,  and  said,  softly, 
"  Lord,  how  long?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Agnes,  "  that  this  young  man  is  of  noble 
birth,  for  his  words  and  his  bearing  and  his  tones  of  voice 
are  not  those  of  common  men ;  even  though  he  speaks  so 
humbly  and  gently,  there  is  yet  something  princely  that 
looks  out  of  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  born  to  command ; 
and  he  wears  strange  jewels,  the  like  of  which  I  never  saw, 
on  his  hands  and  at  the  hilt  of  his  dagger,  —  yet  he  seems 
to  make  nothing  of  them.  But  yet,  I  know  not  why,  he 
spoke  of  himself  as  one  utterly  desolate  and  forlorn.  Father 
Francesco  told  me  that  he  was  captain  of  a  band  of  robbers 
who  live  in  the  mountains.  One  cannot  think  it  is  so." 

"  Little  heart,"  said  the  monk  tenderly,  "  you  can  scarcely 
know  what  things  befall  men  in  these  distracted  times,  when 
faction  wages  war  with  faction,  and  men  pillage  and  burn 
and  imprison,  first  on  this  side,  then  on  that.  Many  a  son 
of  a  noble  house  may  find  himself  homeless  and  landless, 
and,  chased  by  the  enemy,  may  have  no  refuge  but  the  fast 
nesses  of  the  mountains.  Thank  God,  our  lovely  Italy  hath 
a  noble  backbone  of  these  same  mountains,  which  afford 
shelter  to  her  children  in  their  straits." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  159 

"  Then  you  think  it  possible,  dear  uncle,  that  this  may  not 
be  a  bad  man,  after  all  ?  " 

"  Let  us  hope  so,  child.  I  will  myself  seek  him  out ;  and 
if  his  mind  have  been  chafed  by  violence  or  injustice,  I  will 
strive  to  bring  him  back  into  the  good  ways  of  the  Lord. 
Take  heart,  my  little  one,  —  all  will  yet  be  well.  Come 
now,  little  darling,  wipe  your  bright  eyes,  and  look  at  these 
plans  I  have  been  making  for  the  shrine  we  were  talking  of, 
in  the  gorge.  See  here,  I  have  drawn  a  goodly  arch  with  a 
pinnacle.  Under  the  arch,  you  see,  shall  be  the  picture  of 
our  Lady  with  the  blessed  Babe.  The  arch  shall  be  cun 
ningly  sculptured  with  vines  of  ivy  and  passion-flower ;  and 
on  one  side  of  it  shall  stand  Saint  Agnes  with  her  lamb,  — 
and  on  the  other,  Saint  Cecilia,  crowned  with  roses ;  and  on 
this  pinnacle,  above  all,  Saint  Michael,  all  in  armor,  shall 
stand  leaning,  —  one  hand  on  his  sword,  and  holding  a 
shield  with  the  cross  upon  it." 

"  Ah,  that  will  be  beautiful !  "  said  Agnes. 

"You  can  scarcely  tell,"  pursued  the  monk,  "from  this 
faint  drawing,  what  the  picture  of  our  Lady  is  to  be;  but  I 
shall  paint  her  to  the  highest  of  my  art,  and  with  many 
prayers  that  I  may  work  worthily.  You  see,  she  shall  be 
standing  on  a  cloud  with  a  background  all  of  burnished  gold, 
like  the  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem  ;  and  she  shall  be 
clothed  in  a  mantle  of  purest  blue  from  head  to  foot,  to  rep 
resent  the  unclouded  sky  of  summer ;  and  on  her  forehead 
she  shall  wear  the  evening  star,  which  ever  shineth  when 
we  say  the  Ave  Maria ;  and  all  the  borders  of  her  blue  ves 
ture  shall  be  cunningly  wrought  with  fringes  of  stars ;  and 
the  dear  Babe  shall  lean  his  little  cheek  to  hers  so  peace 
fully,  and  there  shall  be  a  clear  shining  of  love  through  her 
face,  and  a  heavenly  restfulness,  that  it  shall  do  one's  heart 


160  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

good  to  look  at  her.  Many  a  blessed  hour  shall  I  have 
over  this  picture,  —  many  a  hymn  shall  I  sing  as  my  work 
goes  on.  I  must  go  about  to  prepare  the  panels  forthwith  ; 
and  it  were  well,  if  there  be  that  young  man  who  works  in 
stone,  to  have  him  summoned  to  our  conference." 

"I  think,"  said  Agnes,  "that  you  will  find  him  in  the 
town;  he  dwells  next  to  the  cathedral." 

"I  trust  he  is  a  youth  of  pious  life  and  conversation," 
said  the  monk.  "  I  must  call  on  him  this  afternoon  ;  for  he 
ought  to  be  stirring  himself  up  by  hymns  and  prayers,  and 
by  meditations  on  the  beauty  of  saints  and  angels,  for  so 
goodly  a  work.  What  higher  honor  or  grace  can  befall  a 
creature  than  to  be  called  upon  to  make  visible  to  men  that 
beauty  of  invisible  things  which  is  divine  and  eternal  ? 
How  many  holy  men  have  given  themselves  to  this  work  in 
Italy,  till,  from  being  overrun  with  heathen  temples,  it  is 
now  full  of  most  curious  and  wonderful  churches,  shrines, 
and  cathedrals,  every  stone  of  which  is  a  miracle  of  beauty ! 
I  would,  dear  daughter,  you  could  see  our  great  Duomo  in 
Florence,  which  is  a  mountain  of  precious  marbles  and  many- 
colored  mosaics  ;  and  the  Campanile  that  riseth  thereby  is 
like  a  lily  of  Paradise,  —  so  tall,  so  stately,  with  such  an 
infinite  grace,  and  adorned  all  the  way  up  with  holy  em 
blems  and  images  of  saints  and  angels ;  nor  is  there  any 
part  of  it,  within  or  without,  that  is  not  finished  sacredly 
with  care,  as  an  offering  to  the  most  perfect  God.  Truly, 
our  fair  Florence,  though  she  be  little,  is  worthy,  by  her 
sacred  adornments,  to  be  worn  as  the  lily  of  our  Lady's 
girdle,  even  as  she  hath  been  dedicated  to  her." 

Agnes  seemed  pleased  with  the  enthusiastic  discourse  of 
her  uncle.  The  tears  gradually  dried  from  her  eyes  as  she 
listened  to  him,  and  the  hope  so  natural  to  the  young  and 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  161 

untried  heart  began  to  reassert  itself.  God  was  merciful, 
the  world  beautiful ;  there  was  a  tender  Mother,  a  reigning 
Saviour,  protecting  angels  and  guardian  saints  :  surely,  then, 
there  was  no  need  to  despair  of  the  recall  of  any  wanderer ; 
and  the  softest  supplication  of  the  most  ignorant  and  unwor 
thy  would  be  taken  up  by  so  many  sympathetic  voices  in 
the  invisible  world,  and  borne  on  in  so  many  waves  of  bright 
ness  to  the  heavenly  throne,  that  the  most  timid  must  have 
hope  in  prayer. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  monk  went  to  the  town  to  seek  the 
young  artist,  and  also  to  inquire  for  the  stranger  for  whom 
his  pastoral  offices  were  in  requisition,  and  Agnes  remained 
alone  in  the  little  solitary  garden. 

It  was  one  of  those  rich  slumberous  afternoons  of  spring 
that  seem  to  bathe  earth  and  heaven  with  an  Elysian  soft 
ness  ;  and  from  her  little  lonely  nook  shrouded  in  dusky 
shadows  by  its  orange-trees,  Agnes  looked  down  the  sombre 
gorge  to  where  the  open  sea  lay  panting  and  palpitating  in 
blue  and  violet  waves,  while  the  little  white  sails  of  fishing- 
boats  drifted  hither  and  thither,  now  silvered  in  the  sun 
shine,  now  fading  away  like  a  dream  into  the  violet  vapor 
bands  that  mantled  the  horizon.  The  weather  would  have 
been  oppressively  sultry  but  for  the  gentle  breeze  which  con 
stantly  drifted  landward  with  coolness  in  its  wings.  The 
hum  of  the  old  town  came  to  her  ear  softened  by  distance 
and  mingled  with  the  patter  of  the  fountain  and  the  music 
of  birds  singing  in  the  trees  overhead.  Agnes  tried  to  busy 
herself  with  her  spinning;  but  her  mind  constantly  wan 
dered  away,  and  stirred  and  undulated  with  a  thousand  dim 
and  unshaped  thoughts  and  emotions,  of  which  she  vaguely 
questioned  in  her  own  mind.  Why  did  Father  Francesco 
warn  her  so  solemnly  against  an  earthly  love  ?  Did  he  not 


162  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

know  her  vocation  ?  But  still  he  was  wisest  and  must  know 
best ;  there  must  be  danger,  if  he  said  so.  But  then,  this 
knight  had  spoken  so  modestly,  so  humbly,  —  so  differently 
from  Giulietta's  lovers  !  —  for  Giulietta  had  sometimes  found 
a  chance  to  recount  to  Agnes  some  of  her  triumphs.  How 
could  it  be  that  a  knight  so  brave  and  gentle,  and  so  piously 
brought  up,  should  become  an  infidel  ?  Ah,  uncle  Antonio 
was  right,  —  he  must  have  had  some  foul  wrong,  some  dread 
ful  injury  I  When  Agnes  was  a  child,  in  travelling  with  her 
grandmother  through  one  of  the  highest  passes  of  the  Apen 
nines,  she  had  chanced  to  discover  a  wounded  eagle,  whom 
an  arrow  had  pierced,  sitting  all  alone  by  himself  on  a  rock, 
with  his  feathers  ruffled,  and  a  film  coming  over  his  great, 
clear,  bright  eye,  —  and,  ever  full  of  compassion,  she  had 
taken  him  to  nurse,  and  had  travelled  for  a  day  with  him 
in  her  arms  ;  and  the  mournful  look  of  his  regal  eyes  now 
came  into  her  memory.  "  Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  is 
like  my  poor  eagle !  The  archers  have  wounded  him,  so 
that  he  is  glad  to  find  shelter  even  with  a  poor  maid  like 
me ;  but  it  was  easy  to  see  my  eagle  had  been  king  among 
birds,  even  as  this  knight  is  among  men.  Certainly,  God 
must  love  him,  —  he  is  so  beautiful  and  noble !  I  hope 
dear  uncle  will  find  him  this  afternoon ;  he  knows  how  to 
teach  him; — as  for  me,  I  can  only  pray." 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  Agnes  twisted  into  the  shin 
ing  white  flax,  while  her  eyes  wandered  dreamily  over  the 
soft  hazy  landscape.  At  last,  lulled  by  the  shivering  sound 
of  leaves,  and  the  bird-songs,  and  wearied  with  the  agita 
tions  of  the  morning,  her  head  lay  back  against  the  end  of 
the  sculptured  fountain,  the  spindle  slowly  dropped  from  her 
hand,  and  her  eyes  were  closed  in  sleep,  the  murmur  of  the 
fountain  still  sounding  in  her  dreams.  In  her  dreams  she 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  163 

seemed  to  be  wandering  far  away  among  the  purple  passes 
of  the  Apennines,  where  she  had  come  years  ago  when  she 
was  a  little  girl ;  with  her  grandmother  she  pushed  through 
old  olive-groves,  weird  and  twisted  with  many  a  quaint 
gnarl,  and  rustling  their  pale  silvery  leaves  in  noonday 
twilight.  Sometimes  she  seemed  to  carry  in  her  bosom  a 
wounded  eagle,  and  often  she  sat  down  to  stroke  it  and  to 
try  to  give  it  food  from  her  hand,  and  as  often  it  looked 
upon  her  with  a  proud,  patient  eye,  and  then  her  grand 
mother  seemed  to  shake  her  roughly  by  the  arm  and  bid  her 
throw  the  silly  bird  away ;  —  but  then  again  the  dream 
changed,  and  she  saw  a  knight  lie  bleeding  and  dying  in  a 
lonely  hollow,  —  his  garments  torn,  his  sword  broken,  and 
his  face  pale  and  faintly  streaked  with  blood ;  and  she 
kneeled  by  him,  trying  in  vain  to  stanch  a  deadly  wound  in 
his  side,  while  he  said  reproachfully,  "  Agnes,  dear  Agnes, 
why  would  you  not  save  me  ? "  and  then  she  thought  he 
kissed  her  hand  with  his  cold  dying  lips  ;  and  she  shivered 
and  awoke,  —  to  find  that  her  hand  was  indeed  held  in  that 
of  the  cavalier,  whose  eyes  met  her  own  when  first  she  un 
closed  them,  and  the  same  voice  that  spoke  in  her  dream 
said,  "  Agnes,  dear  Agnes  !  " 

For  a  moment  she  seemed  stupefied  and  confounded,  and 
sat  passively  regarding  the  knight,  who  kneeled  at  her  feet 
and  repeatedly  kissed  her  hand,  calling  her  his  saint,  his  star, 
his  life,  and  whatever  other  fair  name  poetry  lends  to  love. 
All  at  once,  however,  her  face  flushed  crimson  red,  she  drew 
her  hand  quickly  away,  and,  rising  up,  made  a  motion  to 
retreat,  saying,  in  a  voice  of  alarm,  — 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,  this  must  not  be  !  I  am  committing  deadly 
sin  to  hear  you.  Please,  please  go  !  please  leave  a  poor 
girl!" 


164  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Agnes,  what  does  this  mean  ?  "  said  the  cavalier.  "  Only 
two  days  since,  in  this  place,  you  promised  to  love  me ;  and 
that  promise  has  brought  me  from  utter  despair  to  love  of 
life.  Nay,  since  you  told  me  that,  I  have  been  able  to  pray 
once  more ;  the  whole  world  seems  changed  for  me :  and 
now  will  you  take  it  all  away,  —  you,  who  are  all  I  have  on 
earth?" 

"  My  Lord,  I  did  not  know  then  that  I  was  sinning.  Our 
dear  Mother  knows  I  said  only  what  I  thought  was  true  and 
right,  but  I  find  it  was  a  sin." 

"  A  sin  to  love,  Agnes  ?  Heaven  must  be  full  of  sin,  then ; 
for  there  they  do  nothing  else." 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,  I  must  not  argue  with  you  ;  I  am  forbid 
den  to  listen  even  for  a  moment.  Please  go.  I  will  never 
forget  you,  Sir,  —  never  forget  to  pray  for  you,  and  to  love 
you  as  they  love  in  heaven  ;  but  I  am  forbidden  to  speak 
with  you.  I  fear  I  have  sinned  in  hearing  and  saying  even 
this  much." 

"  Who  forbids  you,  Agnes  ?  Who  has  the  right  to  forbid 
your  good,  kind  heart  to  love,  where  love  is  so  deeply  needed 
and  so  gratefully  received  ?  " 

"  My  holy  father,  whom  I  am  bound  to  obey  as  my  soul's 
director,"  said  Agnes ;  "  he  has  forbidden  me  so  much  as  to 
listen  to  a  word,  and  yet  I  have  listened  to  many.  How 
could  I  help  it?" 

"  Ever  these  priests  !  "  said  the  cavalier,  his  brow  darken 
ing  with  an  impatient  frown  ;  "  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing  !  " 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Agnes,  sorrowfully,  "  why  will  you  " 

"  Why  will  I  what  ?  "  -he  said,  facing  suddenly  toward  her, 
and  looking  down  with  a  fierce,  scornful  determination. 

"  Why  will  you  be  at  war  with  the  Holy  Church  ?  Why 
will  you  peril  your  eternal  salvation  ?  " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  165 

« Is  there  a  Holy  Church  ?  Where  is  it  ?  Would  there 
were  one  !  I  am  blind  and  cannot  see  it.  Little  Agnes,  you 
promised  to  lead  me  ;  but  you  drop  my  hand  in  the  darkness. 
Who  will  guide  me,  if  you  will  not  ?  " 

"  My  Lord,  I  am  most  unfit  to  be  your  guide.  I  am  a 
poor  girl,  without  any  learning;  but  there  is  my  uncle  I 
spoke  to  you  of.  Oh,  my  Lord,  if  you  only  would  go  to 
him,  he  is  wise  and  gentle  both.  I  must  go  in  now,  my 
Lord,  —  indeed,  I  must.  I  must  not  sin  further.  I  must  do 
a  heavy  penance  for  having  listened  and  spoken  to  you,  after 
the  holy  father  had  forbidden  me." 

"  No,  Agnes,  you  shall  not  go  in,"  said  the  cavalier,  sud 
denly  stepping  before  her  and  placing  himself  across  the 
doorway ;  "  you  shall  see  me,  and  hear  me  too.  I  take  the 
sin  on  myself;  you  cannot  help  it.  How  will  you  avoid 
me  ?  Will  you  fly  now  down  the  path  of  the  gorge  ?  I 
will  follow  you,  —  I  am  desperate.  I  had  but  one  comfort 
on  earth,  but  one  hope  of  heaven,  and  that  through  you ; 
and  you,  cruel,  are  so  ready  to  give  me  up  at  the  first  word 
of  your  priest !  " 

"  God  knows  if  I  do  it  willingly,"  said  Agnes ;  "  but  I 
know  it  is  best ;  for  I  feel  I  should  love  you  too  well,  if  I  saw 
more  of  you.  My  Lord,  you  are  strong  and  can  compel  me, 
but  I  beg  you  to  leave  me." 

"  Dear  Agnes,  could  you  really  feel  it  possible  that  you 
might  love  me  too  well  ?  "  said  the  cavalier,  his  whole  man 
ner  changing.  "  Ah  !  could  I  carry  you  far  away  to  my 
home  in  the  mountains,  far  up  in  the  beautiful  blue  moun 
tains,  where  the  air  is  so  clear,  and  the  weary,  wrangling 
world  lies  so  far  below  that  one  forgets  it  entirely,  you 
should  be  my  wife,  my  queen,  my  empress.  You  should 
lead  me  where  you  would;  your  word  should  be  my  law. 


166  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

I  will  go  with  you  wherever  you  will,  —  to  confession,  to 
sacrament,  to  prayers,  never  so  often  ;  never  will  I  rebel 
against  your  word ;  if  you  decree,  I  will  bend  my  neck  to 
king  or  priest ;  I  will  reconcile  me  with  anybody  or  anything 
only  for  your  sweet  sake ;  you  shall  lead  me  all  my  life ; 
and  when  we  die,  I  ask  only  that  you  may  lead  me  to  our 
Mother's  throne  in  heaven,  and  pray  her  to  tolerate  me  for 
your  sake.  Come,  now,  dear,  is  not  even  one  unworthy  soul 
worth  saving  ?  " 

"  My  Lord,  you  have  taught  me  how  wise  my  holy  father 
was  in  forbidding  me  to  listen  to  you.  He  knew  better  than 
I  how  weak  was  my  heart,  and  how  I  might  be  drawn  on 

from  step  to  step  till My  Lord,  I  must  be  no  man's 

wife.  I  follow  the  blessed  Saint  Agnes  ?  May  God  give 
me  grace  to  keep  my  vows  without  wavering  !  —  for  then  I 
shall  gain  power  to  intercede  for  you  and  bring  down  bless 
ings  on  your  soul.  Oh,  never,  never  speak  to  me  so  again, 
my  Lord !  —  you  will  make  me  very,  very  unhappy.  If 
there  is  any  truth  in  your  words,  my  Lord,  if  you  really 
love  me,  you  will  go,  and  you  will  never  try  to  speak  to  me 
again." 

"  Never,  Agnes  ?  never  ?  Think  what  you  are  saying  !  " 
"  Oh,  I  do  think  !  I  know  it  must  be  best,"  said  Agnes, 
much  agitated ;  "  for,  if  I  should  see  you  often  and  hear 
your  voice,  I  should  lose  all  my  strength.  I  could  never 
resist,  and  I  should  lose  heaven  for  you  and  me  too.  Leave 
me,  and  I  will  never,  never  forget  to  pray  for  you ;  and  go 
quickly  too,  for  it  is  time  for  my  grandmother  to  come 
home,  and  she  would  be  so  angry,  —  she  would  never  believe 
I  had  not  been  doing  wrong,  and  perhaps  she  would  make 
me  marry  somebody  that  I  do  not  wish  to.  She  has  threat 
ened  that  many  times ;  but  I  beg  her  to  leave  me  free  to  go 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  167 

to   my  sweet  home  in   the  convent   and  my  dear  Mother 
Theresa." 

"  They  shall  never  marry  you  against  your  will,  little 
Agnes,  I  pledge  you  my  knightly  word.  I  will  protect  you 
from  that.  Promise  me,  dear,  that,  if  ever  you  be  man's 
wife,  you  will  be  mine.  Only  promise  me  that,  and  I  will 

go-" 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Agnes,  in  an  ecstacy  of  fear  and  ap 
prehension,  in  which  there  mingled  some  strange  troubled 
gleams  of  happiness.  "  Well,  then,  I  will.  Ah  !  I  hope  it 
is  no  sin  ! " 

"  Believe  me,  dearest,  it  is  not,"  said  the  knight.  "  Say  it 
again,  —  say,  that  I  may  hear  it,  —  say,  '  If  ever  I  am  man's 
wife,  I  will  be  thine,'  —  say  it,  and  I  will  go." 

"  Well,  then,  my  Lord,  if  ever  I  am  man's  wife,  I  will  be 
thine,"  said  Agnes.  "  But  I  will  be  no  man's  wife.  My 
heart  and  hand  are  promised  elsewhere.  Come,  now,  my 
Lord,  your  word  must  be  kept." 

"  Let  me  put  this  ring  on  your  finger,  lest  you  forget," 
said  the  cavalier.  "It  was  my  mother's  ring,  and  never 
during  her  lifetime  heard  anything  but  prayers  and  hymns. 
It  is  saintly,  and  worthy  of  thee." 

"  No,  my  Lord,  I  may  not.  Grandmother  would  inquire 
about  it.  I  cannot  keep  it ;  but  fear  not  my  forgetting :  I 
shall  never  forget  you." 

"  Will  you  ever  want  to  see  me,  Agnes  ? " 

"I  hope  not,  since  it  is  not  best.     But  you  do  not  go." 

"  Well,  then,  farewell,  my  little  wife !  farewell,  till  I  claim 
thee ! "  said  the  cavalier,  as  he  kissed  her  hand,  and  vaulted 
over  the  wall. 

"  How  strange  that  I  cannot  make  him  understand  !  "  said 
Agnes,  when  he  was  gone.  "  I  must  have  sinned,  I  must 


1G8  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

have  done  wrong ;  but  I  have  been  trying  all  the  while  to 
do  right.  Why  would  he  stay  so,  and  look  at  me  so  with 
those  deep  eyes  ?  I  was  very  hard  with  him,  —  very  !  I 
trembled  for  him,  I  was  so  severe ;  and  yet  it  has  not  dis 
couraged  him  enough.  How  strange  that  he  would  call  me 
so,  after  all,  when  I  explained  to  him  I  never  could  marry ! 
—  Must  I  tell  all  this  to  Father  Francesco  ?  How  dread 
ful  !  How  he  looked  at  me  before  !  How  he  trembled  and 
turned  away  from  me  !  What  will  he  think  now  ?  Ah,  me ! 
why  must  I  tell  him  ?  If  I  could  only  confess  to  my  mother 
Theresa,  that  would  be  easier.  We  have  a  mother  in 
heaven  to  hear  us ;  why  should  we  not  have  a  mother  on 
earth  ?  Father  Francesco  frightens  me  so  !  His  eyes  burn 
me  !  They  seem  to  burn  into  my  soul,  and  he  seems  angry 
with  me  sometimes,  and  sometimes  looks  at  me  so  strangely ! 
Dear,  blessed  Mother,"  she  said,  kneeling  at  the  shrine, 
"help  thy  little  child!  I  do  not  want  to  do  wrong:  I  want 
to  do  right.  Oh  that  I  could  come  and  live  with  thee  !  " 

Poor  Agnes  !  a  new  experience  had  opened  in  her  hereto 
fore  tranquil  life,  and  her  day  was  one  of  conflict.  Do  what 
she  would,  the  words  that  had  been  spoken  to  her  in  the 
morning  would  return  to  her  mind,  and  sometimes  she 
awoke  with  a  shock  of  guilty  surprise  at  finding  she  had 
been  dreaming  over  what  the  cavalier  said  to  her  of  living 
with  him  alone,  in  some  clear,  high,  purple  solitude  of  those 
beautiful  mountains  which  she  remembered  as  an  enchanted 
dream  of  her  childhood.  Would  he  really  always  love  her, 
then,  always  go  with  her  to  prayers  and  mass  and  sacrament, 
and  be  reconciled  to  the  Church,  and  should  she  indeed  have 
the  joy  of  feeling  that  this  noble  soul  was  led  back  to  heav 
enly  peace  through  her  ?  Was  not  this  better  than  a  barren 
life  of  hymns  and  prayers  in  a  cold  convent  ?  Then  the 


AGNES  OF  SOKRENTO.  169 

very  voice  that  said  these  words,  that  voice  of  veiled  strength 
and  manly  daring,  that  spoke  with  such  a  gentle  pleading, 
and  yet  such  an  undertone  of  authority,  as  if  he  had  a  right 
to  claim  her  for  himself,  —  she  seemed  to  feel  the  tones  of 
that  voice  in  every  nerve ;  —  and  then  the  strange  thrilling 
pleasure  of  thinking  that  he  loved  her  so.  Why  should  he, 
this  strange,  beautiful  knight  ?  Doubtless  he  had  seen  splen 
did  high-born  ladies,  —  he  had  seen  even  queens  and  prin 
cesses,  —  and  what  could  he  find  to  like  in  her,  a  poor  little 
peasant  ?  Nobody  ever  thought  so  much  of  her  before,  and 
he  was  so  unhappy  without  her  ;  —  it  was  strange  he  should 
be  ;  but  he  said  so,  and  it  must  be  true.  After  all,  Father 
Francesco  might  be  mistaken  about  his  being  wicked.  On 
the  whole,  she  felt  sure  he  was  mistaken,  at  least  in  part. 
Uncle  Antonio  did  not  seem  to  be  so  much  shocked  at  what 
she  told  him  ;  he  knew  the  temptations  of  men  better,  per 
haps,  because  he  did  not  stay  shut  up  in  one  convent,  but 
travelled  all  about,  preaching  and  teaching.  If  only  he 
could  see  him,  and  talk  with  him,  and  make  him  a  good 
Christian,  —  why,  then,  there  would  be  no  further  need  of 
her ;  —  and  Agnes  was  surprised  to  find  what  a  dreadful, 
dreary  blank  appeared  before  her  when  she  thought  of  this. 
Why  should  she  wish  him  to  remember  her,  since  she  never 
could  be  his  ?  —  and  yet  nothing  seemed  so  dreadful  as  that 
he  should  forget  her.  So  the  poor  little  innocent  fly  beat 
and  fluttered  in  the  mazes  of  that  enchanted  web,  where 
thousands  of  her  frail  sex  have  beat  and  fluttered  before. 

8 


170  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   MONK   AND    THE    CAVALIER. 

FATHER  ANTONIO  had  been  down  through  the  streets  of 
the  old  town  of  Sorrento,  searching  for  the  young  stone-cut 
ter,  and,  finding  him,  had  spent  some  time  in  enlightening 
him  as  to  the  details  of  the  work  he  wished  him  to  execute. 

He  found  him  not  so  easily  kindled  into  devotional  fervors 
as  he  had  fondly  imagined,  nor  could  all  his  most  devout  ex 
hortations  produce  one  quarter  of  the  effect  upon  him  that 
resulted  from  the  discovery  that  it  was  the  fair  Agnes  who 
originated  the  design  and  was  interested  in  its  execution. 
Then  did  the  large  black  eyes  of  the  youth  kindle  into  some 
thing  of  sympathetic  fervor,  and  he  willingly  promised  to  do 
his  very  best  at  the  carving. 

"  I  used  to  know  the  fair  Agnes  well,  years  ago,"  he  said, 
"  but  of  late  she  will  not  even  look  at  ine ;  yet  I  worship  her 
none  the  less.  Who  can  help  it  that  sees  her  ?  I  don't  think 
she  is  so  hard-hearted  as  she  seems ;  but  her  grandmother 
and  the  priests  won't  so  much  as  allow  her  to  lift  up  her  eyes 
when  one  of  us  young  fellows  goes  by.  Twice  these  five 
years  past  have  I  seen  her  eyes,  and  then  it  was  when  I  con 
trived  to  get  near  the  holy  water  when  there  was  a  press 
round  it  of  a  saint's  day,  and  I  reached  some  to  her  on  my 
finger,  and  then  she  smiled  upon  me  and  thanked  me. 
Those  two  smiles  are  all  I  have  had  to  live  on  for  all  this 
time.  Perhaps,  if  I  work  very  well,  she  will  give  me 
another,  and  perhaps  she  will  say,  'Thank  you,  my  good 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  171 

Pietro ! '  as  she  used  to,  when  I  brought  her  birds'  eggs  or 
helped  her  across  the  ravine,  years  ago." 

"  Well,  ray  brave  boy,  do  your  best,"  said  the  monk,  "  and 
let  the  shrine  be  of  the  fairest  white  marble.  I  will  be  an 
swerable  for  the  expense  ;  I  will  beg  it  of  those  who  have 
substance." 

"  So  please  you,  holy  father,"  said  Pietro,  "  I  know  of  a 
spot,  a  little  below  here  on  the  coast,  where  was  a  heathen 
temple  in  the  old  days;  and  one  can  dig  therefrom  long 
pieces  of  fair  white  marble,  all  covered  with  heathen  images. 
I  know  not  whether  your  Reverence  would  think  them  fit  for 
Christian  purposes." 

"  So  much  the  better,  boy  !  so  much  the  better ! "  said  the 
monk,  heartily.  "Only  let  the  marble  be  fine  and  white, 
and  it  is  as  good  as  converting  a  heathen  any  time  to  baptize 
it  to  Christian  uses.  A  few  strikes  of  the  chisel  will  soon 
demolish  their  naked  nymphs  and  other  such  rubbish,  and 
we  can  carve  holy  virgins,  robed  from  head  to  foot  in  all 
modesty,  as  becometh  saints." 

"  I  will  get  my  boat  and  go  down  this  very  afternoon," 
said  Pietro ;  "  and,  Sir,  I  hope  I  am  not  making  too  bold  in 
asking  you,  when  you  see  the  fair  Agnes,  to  present  unto  her 
this  lily,  in  memorial  of  her  old  playfellow." 

"  That  I  will,  my  boy !  And  now  I  think  of  it,  she  spoke 
kindly  of  you  as  one  that  had  been  a  companion  in  her 
childhood,  but  said  her  grandmother  would  not  allow  her  to 
speak  to  you  now." 

"  Ah,  that  is  it ! "  said  Pietro.  "  Old  Elsie  is  a  fierce  old 
kite,  with  strong  beak  and  long  claws,  and  will  not  let  the 
poor  girl  have  any  good  of  her  youth.  Some  say  she  means 
to  marry  her  to  some  rich  old  man,  and  some  say  she  will 
shut  her  up  in  a  convent,  which  I  should  say  was  a  sore  hurt 


172  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

and  loss  to  the  world.  There  are  a  plenty  of  women,  whom 
nobody  wants  to  look  at,  for  that  sort  of  work ;  and  a  beauti 
ful  face  is  a  kind  of  psalm  which  makes  one  want  to  be 
good." 

"  Well,  well,  my  boy,  work  well  and  faithfully  for  the 
saints  on  this  shrine,  and  I  dare  promise  you  many  a  smile 
from  this  fair  maiden ;  for  her  heart  is  set  upon  the  glory 
of  God  and  his  saints,  and  she  will  smile  on  any  one  who 
helps  on  the  good  work.  I  shall  look  in  on  you  daily  for  a 
time,  till  I  see  the  work  well  started." 

So  saying,  the  old  monk  took  his  leave.  Just  as  he  was 
passing  out  of  the  house,  some  one  brushed  rapidly  by  him, 
going  down  the  street.  As  he  passed,  the  quick  eye  of  the 
monk  recognized  the  cavalier  whom  he  had  seen  in  the 
garden  but  a  few  evenings  before.  It  was  not  a  face  and 
form  easily  forgotten,  and  the  monk  followed  him  at  a  little 
distance  behind,  resolving,  if  he  saw  him  turn  in  anywhere, 
to  follow  and  crave  an  audience  of  him. 

Accordingly,  as  he  saw  the  cavalier  entering  under  the  low 
arch  that  led  to  his  hotel,  he  stepped  up  and  addressed  him 
with  a  gesture  of  benediction. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  son  !  " 

"  What  would  you  with  me,  father  ?  "  said  the  cavalier, 
with  a  hasty  and  somewhat  suspicious  glance. 

"  I  would  that  you  would  give  me  an  audience  of  a  few 
moments  on  some  matters  of  importance,"  said  the  monk, 
mildly. 

The  tones  of  his  voice  seemed  to  have  excited  some  vague 
remembrance  in  the  mind  of  the  cavalier  ;  for  he  eyed  him 
narrowly,  and  seemed  trying  to  recollect  where  he  had  seen 
him  before.  Suddenly  a  light  appeared  to  flash  upon  his 
mind ;  for  his  whole  manner  became  at  once  more  cordial. 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  173 

"  My  good  father,"  he  said,  "  my  poor  lodging  and  leisure 
are  at  your  service  for  any  communication  you  may  see  fit 
to  make." 

So  saying,  he  led  the  way  up  the  damp,  ill-smelling  stone 
staircase,  and  opened  the  door  of  the  deserted  room  where 
we  have  seen  him  once  before.  Closing  the  door,  and  seating 
himself  at  the  one  rickety  table  which  the  room  afforded,  he 
motioned  to  the  monk  to  be  seated  also ;  then  taking  off  his 
plumed  hat,  he  threw  it  negligently  on  the  table  beside  him, 
and  passing  his  white,  finely  formed  hand  through  the  black 
curls  of  his  hair,  he  tossed  them  carelessly  from  his  forehead, 
and,  leaning  his  chin  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  fixed  his 
glittering  eyes  on  the  monk  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to 
demand  his  errand. 

"  My  Lord,"  said  the  monk,  in  those  gentle,  conciliating 
tones  which  were  natural  to  him,  "  I  would  ask  a  little  help 
of  you  in  regard  of  a  Christian  undertaking  which  I  have 
here  in  hand.  The  dear  Lord  hath  put  it  into  the  heart  of 
a  pious  young  maid  of  this  vicinity  to  erect  a  shrine  to  the 
honor  of  our  Lady  and  her  dear  Son  in  this  gorge  of  Sor 
rento,  hard  by.  It  is  a  gloomy  place  in  the  night,  and  hath 
been  said  to  be  haunted  by  evil  spirits  ;  and  my  fair  niece, 
who  is  full  of  all  holy  thoughts,  desired  me  to  draw  the 
plan  for  this  shrine,  and,  so  far  as  my  poor  skill  may  go, 
I  have  done  so.  See  here,  my  Lord,  are  the  draw 
ings." 

The  monk  laid  them  down  on  the  table,  his  pale  cheek 
flushing  with  a  faint  glow  of  artistic  enthusiasm  and  pride, 
as  he  explained  to  the  young  man  the  plan  and  drawings. 

The  cavalier  listened  courteously,  but  without  much  ap 
parent  interest,  till  the  monk  drew  from  his  portfolio  a  paper 
and  said,  — 


174  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  This,  my  Lord,  is  my  poor  and  feeble  conception  of  the 
most  sacred  form  of  our  Lady,  which  I  am  to  paint  for  the 
centre  of  the  shrine." 

He  laid  down  the  paper,  and  the  cavalier,  with  a  sudden 
exclamation,  snatched  it  up,  looking  at  it  eagerly. 

"  It  is  she  !  "  he  said  ;  "  it  is  her  very  self !  —  the  divine 
Agnes,  —  the  lily  flower,  —  the  sweet  star,  —  the  only  one 
among  women  ! " 

"  I  see  you  have  recognized  the  likeness,"  said  the  monk, 
blushing.  "  I  know  it  hath  been  thought  a  practice  of 
doubtful  edification  to  represent  holy  things  under  the  image 
of  aught  earthly ;  but  when  any  mortal  seems  especially 
gifted  with  a  heavenly  spirit  outshining  in  the  face,  it  may 
be  that  our  Lady  chooses  that  person  to  reveal  herself  in." 

The  cavalier  was  gazing  so  intently  on  the  picture  that 
he  scarcely  heard  the  apology  of  the  monk  ;  he  held  it 
up,  and  seemed  to  study  it  with  a  long  admiring  gaze. 

"  You  have  great  skill  with  your  pencil,  my  father,"  he 
said  ;  "  one  would  not  look  for  such  things  from  under  a 
monk's  hood." 

"  I  belong  to  the  San  Marco  in  Florence,  of  which  you 
may  have  heard,"  said  Father  Antonio,  "  and  am  an  un 
worthy  disciple  of  the  traditions  of  the  blessed  Angelico, 
whose  visions  of  heavenly  things  are  ever  before  us  ;  and 
no  less  am  I  a  disciple  of  the  renowned  Savonarola,  of 
whose  fame  all  Italy  hath  heard  before  now." 

"  Savonarola  ?  "  said  the  other,  with  eagerness,  —  "  he  that 
makes  these  vile  miscreants  that  call  themselves  Pope  and 
cardinals  tremble  ?  All  Italy,  all  Christendom,  is  groaning 
and  stretching  out  the  hand  to  him  to  free  them  from  these 
abominations.  My  father,  tell  me  of  Savonarola  :  how  goes 
he,  and  what  success  hath  he  ?  " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  175 

"  My  son,  it  is  now  many  months  since  I  left  Florence ; 
since  which  time  I  have  been  sojourning  in  by-places,  re 
pairing  shrines  and  teaching  the  poor  of  the  Lord's  flock, 
who  are  scattered  and  neglected  by  the  idle  shepherds,  who 
think  only  to  eat  the  flesh  and  warm  themselves  with  the 
fleece  of  the  sheep  for  whom  the  Good  Shepherd  gave  his 
life.  My  duties  have  been  humble  and  quiet ;  for  it  is  not 
given  to  me  to  wield  the  sword  of  rebuke  and  controversy, 
like  my  great  master." 

"  And  you  have  not  heard,  then,"  said  the  cavalier,  eager 
ly,  "  that  they  have  excommunicated  him  ?  " 

"  I  knew  that  was  threatened,"  said  the  monk,  "  but  I  did 
not  think  it  possible  that  it  could  befall  a  man  of  such  shin 
ing  holiness  of  life,  so  signally  and  openly  owned  of  God 
that  the  very  gifts  of  the  first  Apostles  seem  revived  in 
him." 

"  Does  not  Satan  always  hate  the  Lord,"  said  the  cavalier. 
"  Alexander  and  his  councils  are  possessed  of  the  Devil,  if 
ever  men  were,  —  and  are  sealed  as  his  children  by  every 
abominable  wickedness.  The  Devil  sits  in  Christ's  seat,  and 
hath  stolen  his  signet-ring,  to  seal  decrees  against  the  Lord's 
own  followers.  What  are  Christian  men  to  do  in  such 
case  ?  " 

The  monk  sighed  and  looked  troubled. 

"  It  is  hard  to  say,"  he  answered.  "  So  much  I  know,  — 
that  before  I  left  Florence  our  master  wrote  to  the  King  of 
France  touching  the  dreadful  state  of  things  at  Rome,  and 
tried  to  stir  him  up  to  call  a  general  council  of  the  Church. 
I  much  fear  me  this  letter  may  have  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  Pope." 

"  I  tell  you,  father,"  said  the  young  man,  starting  up  and 
laying  his  hand  on  his  sword,  "  we  must  fight !  It  is  the 


176  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

sword  that  must  decide  this  matter!  Was  not  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  saved  from  the  Infidels  by  the  sword  ?  —  and 
once  more  the  sword  must  save  the  Holy  City  from  worse 
infidels  than  the  Turks.  If  such  doings  as  these  are  allowed 
in  the  Holy  City,  another  generation  there  will  be  no  Chris 
tians  left  on  earth.  Alexander  and  Caesar  Borgia  and  the 
Lady  Lucrezia  are  enough  to  drive  religion  from  the  world. 
They  make  us  long  to  go  back  to  the  traditions  of  our  Ro 
man  fathers,  —  who  were  men  of  cleanly  and  honorable 
lives  and  of  heroic  deeds,  scorning  bribery  and  deceit. 
They  honored  God  by  noble  lives,  little  as  they  knew  of 
Him.  But  these  men  are  a  shame  to  the  mothers  that 
bore  them." 

"  You  speak  too  truly,  my  son,"  said  the  monk.  "  Alas  ! 
the  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain  with  these 
things.  Many  a  time  and  oft  have  I  seen  our  master 
groaning  and  wrestling  with  God  on  this  account.  For  it 
is  to  small  purpose  that  we  have  gone  through  Italy  preach 
ing  and  stirring  up  the  people  to  more  holy  lives,  when  from 
the  very  hill  of  Zion,  the  height  of  the  sanctuary,  come 
down  these  streams  of  pollution.  It  seems  as  if  the  time 
had  come  that  the  world  could  bear  it  no  longer." 

"  Well,  if  it  come  to  the  trial  of  the  sword,  as  come  it 
must,"  said  the  cavalier,  "  say  to  your  master  that  Agostino 
Sarelli  has  a  band  of  one  hundred  tried  men  and  an  impreg 
nable  fastness  in  the  mountains,  where  he  may  take  refuge, 
and  where  they  will  gladly  hear  the  Word  of  God  from 
pure  lips.  They  call  us  robbers,  —  us  who  have  gone  out 
from  the  assembly  of  robbers,  that  we  might  lead  honest  and 
cleanly  lives.  There  is  not  one  among  us  that  hath  not  lost 
houses,  lands,  brothers,  parents,  children,  or  friends  through 
their  treacherous  cruelty.  There  be  those  whose  wives  and 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  177 

sisters  have  been  forced  into  the  Borgia  harem ;  there  be 
those  whose  children  have  been  tortured  before  their  eyes, 
—  those  who  have  seen  the  fairest  and  dearest  slaughtered 
by  these  hell-hounds,  who  yet  sit  in  the  seat  of  the  Lord  and 
give  decrees  in  the  name  of  Christ.  Is  there  a  God  ?  If 
there  be,  why  is  He  silent  ?  " 

"  Yea,  my  son,  there  is  a  God,"  said  the  monk ;  "  but 
His  ways  are  not  as  ours.  A  thousand  years  in  His  sight 
are  but  as  yesterday,  as  a  watch  in  the  night.  He  shall 
come,  and  shall  not  keep  silence." 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know,  father,"  said  the  young  man, 
"  that  I,  too,  am  excommunicated.  I  am  excommunicated, 
because,  Caesar  Borgia  having  killed  my  oldest  brother,  and 
dishonored  and  slain  my  sister,  and  seized  on  all  our  pos 
sessions,  and  the  Pope  having  protected  and  confirmed  him 
therein,  I  declare  the  Pope  to  be  not  of  God,  but  of  the 
Devil.  I  will  not  submit  to  him,  nor  be  ruled  by  him  ;  and 
I  and  my  fellows  will  make  good  our  mountains  against 
him  and  his  crew  with  such  right  arms  as  the  good  Lord 
hath  given  us." 

"  The  Lord  be  with  you,  my  son  !  "  said  the  monk ;  "  and 
the  Lord  bring  His  Church  out  of  these  deep  waters ! 
Surely,  it  is  a  lovely  and  beautiful  Church,  made  dear  and 
precious  by  innumerable  saints  and  martyrs  who  have  given 
their  sweet  lives  up  willingly  for  it ;  and  it  is  full  of  records 
of  righteousness,  of  prayers  and  alms  and  works  of  mercy 
that  have  made  even  the  very  dust  of  our  Italy  precious  and 
holy.  Why  hast  Thou  abandoned  this  vine  of  Thy  plant 
ing,  0  Lord  ?  The  boar  out  of  the  wood  doth  waste  it ; 
the  wild  beast  of  the  field  doth  devour  it.  Return,  we  be 
seech  Thee,  and  visit  this  vine  of  Thy  planting  ! " 

The  monk  clasped  his  hands  and  looked  upward  plead- 
8* 


178  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

ingly,  the  tears  running  down  his  wasted  cheeks.  Ah,  many 
such  strivings  and  prayers  in  those  days  went  up  from  silent 
hearts  in  obscure  solitudes,  that  wrestled  and  groaned  under 
that  mighty  burden  which  Luther  at  last  received  strength 
to  heave  from  the  heart  of  the  Church. 

"  Then,  father,  you  do  admit  that  one  may  be  banned  by 
the  Pope,  and  may  utterly  refuse  and  disown  him,  and  yet 
be  a  Christian?" 

"  How  can  I  otherwise  ?  "  said  the  monk.  "  Do  I  not  see 
the  greatest  saint  this  age  or  any  age  has  ever  seen  under 
the  excommunication  of  the  greatest  sinner  ?  Only,  my  son, 
let  me  warn  you.  Become  not  irreverent  to  the  true  Church, 
because  of  a  false  usurper.  Reverence  the  sacraments,  the 
hymns,  the  prayers  all  the  more  for  this  sad  condition  in 
which  you  stand.  What  teacher  is  more  faithful  in  these 
respects  than  my  master?  Who  hath  more  zeal  for  our 
blessed  Lord  Jesus,  and  a  more  living  faith  in  Him  ?  Who 
hath  a  more  filial  love  and  tenderness  towards  our  blessed 
Mother  ?  Who  hath  more  reverent  communion  with  all  the 
saints  than  he  ?  Truly,  he  sometimes  seems  to  me  to  walk 
encompassed  by  all  the  armies  of  heaven,  —  such  a  power 
goes  forth  in  his  words,  and  such  a  holiness  in  his  life." 

"  Ah,"  said  Agostino,  "  would  I  had  such  a  confessor  ! 
The  sacraments  might  once  more  have  power  for  me,  and  I 
might  cleanse  my  soul  from  unbelief." 

"  Dear  son,"  said  the  monk,  "  accept  a  most  unworthy,  but 
sincere  follower  of  this  holy  prophet,  who  yearns  for  thy 
salvation.  Let  me  have  the  happiness  of  granting  to  thee 
the  sacraments  of  the  Church,  which,  doubtless,  are  thine 
by  right  as  one  of  the  flock  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  Come  to  me 
some  day  this  week  in  confession,  and  thereafter  thou  shalt 
receive  the  Lord  within  thee,  and  be  once  more  united  to 
Him." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  179 

"  My  good  father,"  said  the  young  man,  grasping  his  hand, 
and  much  affected,  "  I  will  come.  Your  words  have  done 
me  good  ;  but  I  must  think  more  of  them.  I  will  come 
soon  ;  but  these  things  cannot  be  done  without  pondering ;  it 
will  take  some  time  to  bring  my  heart  into  charity  with  all 
men." 

The  monk  rose  up  to  depart,  and  began  to  gather  up  his 
drawings. 

"  For  this  matter,  father,"  said  the  cavalier,  throwing  sev 
eral  gold  pieces  upon  the  table,  "  take  these,  and  as  many 
more  as  you  need  ask  for  your  good  work.  I  would  will 
ingly  pay  any  sum,"  he  added,  while  a  faint  blush  rose  to  his 
cheek,  "  if  you  would  give  me  a  copy  of  this.  Gold  would 
be  nothing  in  comparison  with  it." 

"  My  son,"  said  the  monk,  smiling,  "  would  it  be  to  thee 
an  image  of  an  earthly  or  a  heavenly  love?" 

"  Of  both,  father,"  said  the  young  man.  "  For  that  dear 
face  has  been  more  to  me  than  prayer  or  hymn ;  it  has  beer 
even  as  a  sacrament  to  me,  and  through  it  I  know  not  what 
of  holy  and  heavenly  influences  have  come  to  me." 

"  Said  I  not  well,"  said  the  monk,  exulting,  "  that  there 
were  those  on  whom  our  Mother  shed  such  grace  that  their 
very  beauty  led  heavenward  ?  Such  are  they  whom  the 
artist  looks  for,  when  he  would  adorn  a  shrine  where  the 
faithful  shall  worship.  Well,  my  son,  I  must  use  my  poor 
art  for  you ;  and  as  for  gold,  we  of  our  convent  take  it  not 
except  for  the  adorning  of  holy  things,  such  as  this  shrine." 

"  How  soon  shall  it  be  done  ? "  said  the  young  man, 
eagerly. 

"  Patience,  patience,  my  Lord  !  Rome  was  not  built  in  a 
day,  and  our  art  must  work  by  slow  touches ;  but  I  will  do 
my  best.  But  wherefore,  my  Lord,  cherish  this  image?" 


180  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Father,  are  you  of  near  kin  to  this  maid  ? " 

"  I  am  her  mother's  only  brother." 

"  Then  I  say  to  you,  as  the  nearest  of  her  male  kin,  that  I 
seek  this  maid  in  pure  and  honorable  marriage  ;  and  she 
hath  given  me  her  promise,  that,  if  ever  she  be  wife  of  mor 
tal  man,  she  will  be  mine." 

"  But  she  looks  not  to  be  wife  of  any  man,"  said  the 
monk  ;  "  so,  at  least,  I  have  heard  her  say ;  though  her 
grandmother  would  fain  marry  her  to  a  husband  of  her 
choosing.  'T  is  a  wilful  woman,  is  my  sister  Elsie,  and  a 
worldly,  —  not  easy  to  persuade,  and  impossible  to  drive." 

"  And  she  hath  chosen  for  this  fair  angel  some  base  peas 
ant  churl  who  will  have  no  sense  of  her  exceeding  loveli 
ness  ?  By  the  saints,  if  it  come  to  this,  I  will  carry  her 
away  with  the  strong  arm ! " 

"  That  is  not  to  be  apprehended  just  at  present.  Sister 
Elsie  is  dotingly  fond  of  the  girl,  which  hath  slept  in  her 
bosom  since  infancy." 

"  And  why  should  I  not  demand  her  in  marriage  of  your 
sister  ?  "  said  the  young  man. 

"  My  Lord,  you  are  an  excommunicated  man,  and  she 
would  have  horror  of  you.  It  is  impossible ;  it  would  not 
be  to  edification  to  make  the  common  people  judges  in  such 
matters.  It  is  safest  to  let  their  faith  rest  undisturbed,  and 
that  they  be  not  taught  to  despise  ecclesiastical  censures. 
This  could  not  be  explained  to  Elsie ;  she  would  drive  you 
from  her  doors  with  her  distaff,  and  you  would  scarce  wish 
to  put  your  sword  against  it.  Besides,  my  Lord,  if  you  were 
not  excommunicated,  you  are  of  noble  blood,  and  this  alone 
would  be  a  fatal  objection  with  my  sister,  who  hath  sworn 
on  the  holy  cross  that  Agnes  shall  never  love  one  of  your 
race." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  181 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  this  hatred  ?  " 

"  Some  foul  wrong  which  a  noble  did  her  mother,"  said 
the  monk ;  "  for  Agnes  is  of  gentle  blood  on  her  father's 
side." 

"I  might  have  known  it,"  said  the  cavalier  to  himself; 
"  her  words  and  ways  are  unlike  anything  in  her  class.  — 
Father,"  he  added,  touching  his  sword,  "we  soldiers  are 
fond  of  cutting  all  Gordian  knots,  whether  of  love  or  relig 
ion,  with  this.  The  sword,  father,  is  the  best  theologian,  the 
best  casuist.  *  The  sword  rights  wrongs  and  punishes  evil 
doers,  and  some  day  the  sword  may  cut  the  way  out  of  this 
embarrass  also." 

"  Gently,  my  son  !  gently  !  "  said  the  monk  ;  "  nothing  is 
lost  by  patience.  See  how  long  it  takes  the  good  Lord  to 
make  a  fair  flower  out  of  a  little  seed ;  and  He  does  all 
quietly,  without  bluster.  Wait  on  Him  a  little  in  peaceful- 
ness  and  prayer,  and  see  what  He  will  do  for  thee." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  my  father,"  said  the  cavalier, 
cordially.  "  Your  counsels  have  done  me  good,  and  I  shall 
seek  them  further.  But  do  not  let  them  terrify  my  poor 
Agnes  with  dreadful  stories  of  the  excommunication  that 
hath  befallen  me.  The  dear  saint  is  breaking  her  good  little 
heart  for  my  sins,  and  her  confessor  evidently  hath  forbidden 
her  to  speak  to  me  or  look  at  me.  If  her  heart  were  left  to 
itself,  it  would  fly  to  me  like  a  little  tame  bird,  and  I  would 
cherish  it  forever ;  but  now  she  sees  sin  in  every  innocent, 
womanly  thought,  —  poor  little  dear  child-angel  that  she 
is!" 

"Her  confessor  is  a  Franciscan,"  said  the  monk,  who, 
good  as  he  was,  could  not  escape  entirely  from  the  ruling 
prejudice  of  his  order,  —  "  and,  from  what  I  know  of  him,  I 
should  think  might  be  unskilful  in  what  pertaineth  to  the 


182  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

nursing  of  so  delicate  a  lamb.  It  is  not  every  one  to  whom 
is  given  the  gift  of  rightly  directing  souls." 

"  I  'd  like  to  carry  her  off  from  him  !  "  said  the  cavalier, 
between  his  teeth.  "  I  will,  too,  if  he  is  not  careful ! " 
Then  he  added  aloud,  "  Father,  Agnes  is  mine,  —  mine  by 
the  right  of  the  truest  worship  and  devotion  that  man  could 
ever  pay  to  woman,  —  mine  because  she  loves  me.  For  I 
know  she  loves  me ;  I  know  it  far  better  than  she  knows  it 
herself,  the  dear  innocent  child  !  and  I  will  not  have  her 
torn  from  me  to  waste  her  life  in  a  lonely,  barren  convent, 
or  to  be  the  wife  of  a  stolid  peasant.  I  am  a  man  of  my 
word,  and  I  will  vindicate  my  right  to  her  in  the  face  of  God 
and  man." 

"  "Well,  well,  my  son,  as  I  said  before,  patience,  —  one 
thing  at  a  time.  Let  us  say  our  prayers  and  sleep  to-night, 
to  begin  with,  and  to-morrow  will  bring  us  fresh  counsel." 

"  Well,  my  father,  you  will  be  for  me  in  this  matter  ?  " 
said  the  young  man. 

"  My  son,  I  wish  you  all  happiness  ;  and  if  this  be  for 
your  best  good  and  that  of  my  dear  niece,  I  wish  it.  But, 
as  I  said,  there  must  be  time  and  patience.  The  way  must 
be  made  clear.  I  will  see  how  the  case  stands ;  and  you 
may  be  sure,  when  I  can  in  good  conscience,  I  will  befriend 
you." 

"  Thank  you,  my  father,  thank  you ! "  said  the  young 
man,  bending  his  knee  to  receive  the  monk's  parting  bene 
diction. 

"  It  seems  to  me  not  best,"  said  the  monk,  turning  once 
more,  as  he  was  leaving  the  threshold,  "that  you  should 
come  to  me  at  present  where  I  am,  —  it  would  only  raise  a 
storm  that  I  could  not  allay ;  and  so  great  would  be  the 
power  of  the  forces  they  might  bring  to  bear  on  the  child, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  183 

that  her  little  heart  might  break  and  the  saints  claim  her  too 
soon." 

"Well,  then,  father,  come  hither  to  me  to-morrow  at  this 
same  hour,  if  I  be  not  too  unworthy  of  your  pastoral  care." 

"  I  shall  be  too  happy,  my  son,"  said  the  monk.  "  So 
be  it." 

And  he  turned  from  the  door  just  as  the  bell  of  the  cathe 
dral  struck  the  Ave  Maria,  and  all  in  the  street  bowed  in 
the  evening  act  of  worship. 


184  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  MONK'S    STRUGGLE. 

THE  golden  sunshine  of  the  spring  morning  was  deadened 
to  a  sombre  tone  in  the  shadowy  courts  of  the  Capuchin 
convent.  The  reddish  brown  of  the  walls  was  flecked  with 
gold  and  orange  spots  of  lichen;  and  here  and  there,  in 
crevices,  tufts  of  grass,  or  even  a  little  bunch  of  gold-bloom 
ing  flowers,  looked  hardily  forth  into  the  shadowy  air.  A 
covered  walk,  with  stone  arches,  enclosed  a  square  filled 
with  dusky  shrubbery.  There  were  tall  funereal  cypresses, 
whose  immense  height  and  scraggy  profusion  of  decaying 
branches  showed  their  extreme  old  age.  There  were  gaunt, 
gnarled  olives,  with  trunks  twisted  in  immense  serpent  folds, 
and  bows  wreathed  and  knotted  into  wild,  unnatural  con 
tractions,  as  if  their  growth  had  been  a  series  of  spasmodic 
convulsions,  instead  of  a  calm  and  gentle  development  of 
Nature.  There  were  overgrown  clumps  of  aloes,  with  the 
bare  skeletons  of  former  flower-stalks  standing  erect  among 
their  dusky  horns  or  lying  rotting  on  the  ground  beside  them. 
The  place  had  evidently  been  intended  for  the  culture  of 
shrubbery  and  flowers,  but  the  growth  of  the  trees  had  long 
since  so  intercepted  the  sunlight  and  fresh  air  that  not  even 
grass  could  find  root  beneath  their  branches.  The  ground 
was  covered  with  a  damp  green  mould,  strewn  here  and 
there  with  dead  boughs,  or  patched  with  tufts  of  fern  and 
lycopodium,  throwing  out  their  green  hairy  roots  into  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  185 

moist  soil.  A  few  half-dead  roses  and  jasmines,  remnants 
of  former  days  of  flowers,  still  maintained  a  struggling  ex 
istence,  but  looked  wan  and  discouraged  in  the  effort,  and 
seemed  to  stretch  and  pine  vaguely  for  a  freer  air.  In  fact, 
the  whole  garden  might  be  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  symbol 
of  the  life  by  which  it  was  surrounded,  —  a  life  stagnant, 
unnatural,  and  unhealthy,  cut  off  from  all  those  thousand 
stimulants  to  wholesome  development  which  are  afforded  by 
the  open  plain  of  human  existence,  where  strong  natures 
grow  distorted  in  unnatural  efforts,  though  weaker  ones  find 
in  its  lowly  shadows  a  congenial  refuge. 

We  have  given  the  brighter  side  of  conventual  life  in  the 
days  we  are  describing :  we  have  shown  it  as  often  a  needed 
shelter  of  woman's  helplessness  during  ages  of  political  un 
certainty  and  revolution ;  we  have  shown  it  as  the  congenial 
retreat  where  the  artist,  the  poet,  the  student,  and  the  man 
devoted  to  ideas  found  leisure  undisturbed  to  develop  them 
selves  under  the  consecrating  protection  of  religion.  The 
picture  would  be  unjust  to  truth,  did  we  not  recognize,  what, 
from  our  knowledge  of  human  nature,  we  must  expect,  a 
conventual  life  of  far  less  elevated  and  refined  order.  We 
should  expect  that  institutions  which  guarantied  to  each  in 
dividual  a  livelihood,  without  the  necessity  of  physical  labor 
or  the  responsibility  of  supporting  a  family,  might  in  time 
come  to  be  incumbered  with  many  votaries  in  whom  indo 
lence  and  improvidence  were  the  only  impelling  motives. 
In  all  ages  of  the  world  the  unspiritual  are  the  majority,  — 
the  spiritual  the  exceptions.  It  was  to  the  multitude  that 
Jesus  said,  "Ye  seek  me,  not  because  ye  saw  the  miracles, 
but  because  ye  did  eat  and  were  filled,"  —  and  the  multitude 
has  been  much  of  the  same  mind  from  that  day  to  this. 

The  convent  of  which  we  speak  had  been  for  some  years 


186  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

under  the  lenient  rule  of  the  jolly  Brother  Girolamo,  —  an 
easy,  wide-spread,  loosely  organized  body,  whose  views  of 
the  purpose  of  human  existence  were  decidedly  Anacreontic. 
Fasts  he  abominated,  —  night-prayers  he  found  unfavorable 
to  his  constitution ;  but  he  was  a  judge  of  olives  and  good 
wine,  and  often  threw  out  valuable  hints  in  his  pastoral 
visits  on  the  cooking  of  maccaroni,  for  which  he  had  himself 
elaborated  a  savory  recipe  ;  and  the  cellar  and  larder  of  the 
convent,  during  his  pastorate,  presented  so  many  urgent 
solicitations  to  conventual  repose,  as  to  threaten  an  incon 
venient  increase  in  the  number  of  brothers.  The  monks  in 
his  time  lounged  in  all  the  sunny  places  of  the  convent  like 
so  many  loose  sacks  of  meal,  enjoying  to  the  full  the  dolce 
far  niente  which  seems  to  be  the  universal  rule  of  Southern 
climates.  They  ate  and  drank  and  slept  and  snored ;  they 
made  pastoral  visits  through  the  surrounding  community 
which  were  far  from  edifying;  they  gambled,  and  tippled, 
and  sang  most  unspiritual  songs  ;  and  keeping  all  the  while 
their  own  private  pass-key  to  Paradise  tucked  under  their 
girdles,  were  about  as  jolly  a  set  of  sailors  to  Eternity  as 
the  world  had  to  show.  In  fact,  the  climate  of  Southern 
Italy  and  its  gorgeous  scenery  are  more  favorable  to  volup 
tuous  ecstasy  than  to  the  severe  and  grave  warfare  of  the 
true  Christian  soldier.  The  sunny  plains  of  Capua  demor 
alized  the  soldiers  of  Hannibal,  and  it  was  not  without  a 
reason  that  ancient  poets  made  those  lovely  regions  the 
abode  of  Sirens  whose  song  maddened  by  its  sweetness,  and 
of  a  Circe  who  made  men  drunk  with  her  sensual  fascina 
tions,  till  they  became  sunk  to  the  form  of  brutes.  Here, 
if  anywhere,  is  the  lotos-eater's  paradise,  —  the  purple  skies, 
the  enchanted  shores,  the  soothing  gales,  the  dreamy  mists, 
which  all  conspire  to  melt  the  energy  of  the  will,  and  to 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  187 

make  existence  either  a  half  doze  of  dreamy  apathy  or  an 
awaking  of  mad  delirium. 

It  was  not  from  dreamy,  voluptuous  Southern  Italy  that 
the  religious  progress  of  the  Italian  race  received  any  vigor 
ous  impulses.  These  came  from  more  northern  and  more 
mountainous  regions,  from  the  severe,  clear  heights  of  Flor 
ence,  Perugia,  and  Assisi,  where  the  intellectual  and  the 
moral  both  had  somewhat  of  the  old  Etruscan  earnestness 
and  gloom. 

One  may  easily  imagine  the  stupid  alarm  and  helpless 
confusion  of  these  easy-going  monks,  when  their  new  Supe 
rior  came  down  among  them  hissing  with  a  white  heat  from 
the  very  hottest  furnace-fires  of  a  new  religious  experience, 
burning  and  quivering  with  the  terrors  of  the  world  to  come, 
—  pale,  thin,  eager,  tremulous,  and  yet  with  all  the  martial 
vigor  of  the  former  warrior,  and  all  the  habits  of  command 
of  a  former  princely  station.  His  reforms  gave  no  quarter  to 
right  or  left ;  sleepy  monks  were  dragged  out  to  midnight- 
prayers,  and  their  devotions  enlivened  with  vivid  pictures  of 
hell-fire  and  ingenuities  of  eternal  torment  enough  to  stir  the 
blood  of  the  most  torpid.  There  was  to  be  no  more  gor 
mandizing,  no  more  wine-bibbing ;  the  choice  old  wines  were 
placed  under  lock  and  key  for  the  use  of  the  sick  and  poor 
in  the  vicinity ;  and  every  fast  of  the  Church,  and  every 
obsolete  rule  of  the  order,  were  revived  with  unsparing 
rigor.  It  is  true,  they  hated  their  new  Superior  with  all 
the  energy  which  laziness  and  good-living  had  left  them,  but 
they  every  soul  of  them  shook  in  their  sandals  before  him  ; 
for  there  is  a  true  and  established  order  of  mastery  among 
human  beings,  and  when  a  man  of  enkindled  energy  and 
intense  will  comes  among  a  flock  of  irresolute  commonplace 
individuals,  he  subjects  them  to  himself  by  a  sort  of  moral 


188  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

paralysis  similar  to  what  a  great,  vigorous  gymnotus  distrib 
utes  among  a  fry  of  inferior  fishes.  The  bolder  ones,  who 
made  motions  of  rebellion,  were  so  energetically  swooped 
upon,  and  consigned  to  the  discipline  of  dungeon  and  hread- 
and-water,  that  less  courageous  natures  made  a  merit  of 
siding  with  the  more  powerful  party,  mentally  resolving  to 
carry  by  fraud  the  points  which  they  despaired  of  accom 
plishing  by  force. 

On  the  morning  we  speak  of,  two  monks  might  have 
been  seen  lounging  on  a  stone  bench  by  one  of  the  arches, 
looking  listlessly  into  the  sombre  garden-patch  we  have 
described.  The  first  of  these,  Father  Anselmo,  was  a  cor 
pulent  fellow,  with  an  easy  swing  of  gait,  heavy  animal 
features,  and  an  eye  of  shrewd  and  stealthy  cunning:  the 
whole  air  of  the  man  expressed  the  cautious,  careful  volup 
tuary.  The  other,  Father  Johannes,  was  thin,  wiry,  and 
elastic,  with  hands  like  birds'  claws,  and  an  eye  that  re 
minded  one  of  the  crafty  cunning  of  a  serpent.  His  smile 
was  a  curious  blending  of  shrewdness  and  malignity.  He 
regarded  his  companion  from  time  to  time  obliquely  from 
the  corners  of  his  eyes,  to  see  what  impression  his  words 
were  making,  and  had  a  habit  of  jerking  himself  up  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence  and  looking  warily  round  to  see  if  any 
one  were  listening,  which  indicated  habitual  distrust. 

"  Our  holy  Superior  is  out  a  good  while  this  morning,"  he 
said,  at  length. 

The  observation  was  made  in  the  smoothest  and  most 
silken  tones,  but  they  carried  with  them  such  a  singular 
suggestion  of  doubt  and  inquiry  that  they  seemed  like  an 
accusation. 

"  Ah  ? "  replied  the  other,  perceiving  evidently  some  in 
tended  undertone  of  suspicion  lurking  in  the  words,  but 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  189 

apparently  resolved  not  to  commit  himself  to  his  com 
panion. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  first ;  "  the  zeal  of  the  house  of  the  Lord 
consumes  him,  the  blessed  man  !  " 

"  Blessed  man  ! "  echoed  the  second,  rolling  up  his  eyes, 
and  giving  a  deep  sigh,  which  shook  his  portly  proportions 
so  that  they  quivered  like  jelly. 

"  If  he  goes  on  in  this  way  much  longer,"  continued  Father 
Johannes,  "  there  will  soon  be  very  little  mortal  left  of  him ; 
the  saints  will  claim  him." 

Father  Anselmo  gave  something  resembling  a  pious  groan, 
but  darted  meanwhile  a  shrewd  observant  glance  at  the 
speaker. 

"  What  would  become  of  the  convent,  were  he  gone  ?  " 
said  Father  Johannes.  "  All  these  blessed  reforms  which  he 
has  brought  about  would  fall  back ;  for  our  nature  is  fear 
fully  corrupt,  and  ever  tends  to  wallow  in  the  mire  of  sin 
and  pollution.  What  changes  hath  he  wrought  in  us  all ! 
To  be  sure,  the  means  were  sometimes  severe.  I  remem 
ber,  brother,  when  he  had  you  under  ground  for  more  than 
ten  days.  My  heart  was  pained  for  you  ;  but  I  suppose 
you  know  that  it  was  necessary,  in  order  to  bring  you  to  that 
eminent  state  of  sanctity  where  you  now  stand." 

The  heavy,  sensual  features  of  Father  Anselmo  flushed 
up  with  some  emotion,  whether  of  anger  or  of  fear  it  was 
hard  to  tell ;  but  he  gave  one  hasty  glance  at  his  companion, 
which,  if  a  glance  could  kill,  would  have  struck  him  dead, 
and  then  there  fell  over  his  countenance,  like  a  veil,  an  ex 
pression  of  sanctimonious  humility,  as  he  replied,  — 

"  Thank  you  for  your  sympathy,  dearest  brother.  I  re 
member,  too,  how  I  felt  for  you  that  week  when  you  were 
fed  only  on  bread  and  water,  and  had  to  take  it  on  your 


190  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

knees  off  the  floor,  while  the  rest  of  us  sat  at  table.  How- 
blessed  it  must  be  to  have  one's  pride  brought  down  in  that 
way  !  When  our  dear,  blessed  Superior  first  came,  brother, 
you  were  as  a  bullock  unaccustomed  to  the  yoke,  but  now 
what  a  blessed  change !  It  must  give  you  so  much  peace  ! 
How  you  must  love  him  !  " 

"  I  think  we  love  him  about  equally,"  said  Father  Johan 
nes,  his  dark,  thin  features  expressing  the  concentration  of 
malignity.  "  His  labors  have  been  blessed  among  us.  Not 
often  does  a  faithful  shepherd  meet  so  loving  a  flock.  I 
have  been  told  that  the  great  Peter  Abelard  found  far 
less  gratitude.  They  tried  to  poison  him  in  the  most  holy 
wine." 

"  How  absurd  ! ".  interrupted  Father  Anselmo,  hastily  ; 
"  as  if  the  blood  of  the  Lord,  as  if  our  Lord  himself  could 
be  made  poison  ! " 

"  Brother,  it  is  a  fact,"  insisted  the  former,  in  tones  silvery 
with  humility  and  sweetness. 

"  A  fact  that  the  most  holy  blood  can  be  poisoned  ?  "  re 
plied  the  other,  with  horror  evidently  genuine. 

"  I  grieve  to  say,  brother,"  said  Father  Johannes,  "  that 
in  my  profane  and  worldly  days  I  tried  that  experiment  on  a 
dog,  and  the  poor  brute  died  in  five  minutes.  Ah,  brother,'* 
he  added,  observing  that  liis  obese  companion  was  now 
thoroughly  roused,  "  you  see  before  you  the  chief  of  sinners  ! 
Judas  was  nothing  to  me  ;  and  yet,  such  are  the  triumphs  of 
grace,  I  am  an  unworthy  member  of  this  most  blessed  and 
pious  brotherhood ;  but  I  do  penance  daily  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes  for  my  offence." 

u  But,  Brother  Johannes,  was  it  really  so  ?  did  it  real 
ly  happen?"  inquired  Father  Anselmo,  looking  puzzled. 
"  Where,  then,  is  our  faith  ?  " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  191 

"  Doth  our  faith  rest  on  human  reason,  or  on  the  evidence 
of  our  senses,  Brother  Anselmo?  I  bless  God  that  I  have 
arrived  at  that  state  where  I  can  adoringly  say,  '  I  believe, 
because  it  is  impossible.'  Yea,  brother,  I  know  it  to  be  a 
fact  that  the  ungodly  have  sometimes  destroyed  holy  men, 
like  our  Superior,  who  could  not  be  induced  to  taste  wine 
for  any  worldly  purpose,  by  drugging  the  blessed  cup ;  so 
dreadful  are  the  ragings  of  Satan  in  our  corrupt  nature  ! " 

"  I  can't  see  into  that,"  said  Father  Anselmo,  still  looking 
confused. 

"  Brother,"  answered  Father  Johannes,  "  permit  an  un 
worthy  sinner  to  remind  you  that  you  must  not  try  to  see 
into  anything ;  all  that  is  wanted  of  you  in  our  most  holy 
religion  is  to  shut  your  eyes  and  believe  ;  all  things  are 
possible  to  the  eye  of  faith.  Now,  humanly  speaking,"  he 
added,  with  a  peculiarly  meaning  look,  "  who  would  believe 
that  you  kept  all  the  fasts  of  our  order,  and  all  the  extraor 
dinary  ones  which  it  hath  pleased  our  blessed  Superior  to 
lay  upon  us,  as  you  surely  do  ?  A  worldling  might  swear, 
to  look  at  you,  that  such  flesh  and  color  must  come  in  some 
way  from  good  meat  and  good  wine  ;  but  we  remember  how 
the  three  children  throve  on  the  pulse  and  rejected  the  meat 
from  the  king's  table." 

The  countenance  of  Father  Anselmo  expressed  both  anger 
and  alarm  at  this  home-thrust,  and  the  changes  did  not  es 
cape  the  keen  eye  of  Father  Johannes,  who  went  on. 

"  I  directed  the  eyes  of  our  holy  father  upon  you  as  a 
striking  example  of  the  benefits  of  abstemious  living,  show 
ing  that  the  days  of  miracles  are  not  yet  past  in  the  Church, 
as  some  sceptics  would  have  us  believe.  He  seemed  to  study 
you  attentively.  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  honor  you  with 
some  more  particular  inquiries,  —  the  blessed  saint!" 


192  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

Father  Anselmo  turned  uneasily  on  his  seat  and  stealthily 
eyed  his  companion,  to  see,  if  possible,  how  much  real  knowl 
edge  was  expressed  by  his  words,  and  then  answered  on 
quite  another  topic. 

"  How  this  garden  has  fallen  to  decay !  We  miss  old 
Father  Angelo  sorely,  who  was  always  trimming  and  cleans 
ing  it.  Our  Superior  is  too  heavenly-minded  to  have  much 
thought  for  earthly  things,  and  so  it  goes." 

Father  Johannes  watched  this  attempt  at  diversion  with  a 
glitter  of  stealthy  malice,  and,  seeming  to  be  absorbed  in 
contemplation,  broke  out  again  exactly  where  he  had  left  off 
on  the  unwelcome  subject. 

"  I  mind  me  now,  Brother  Anselmo,  that,  when  you  came 
out  of  your  cell  to  prayers,  the  other  night,  your  utterance 
was  thick,  and  your  eyes  heavy  and  watery,  and  your  gait  un 
certain.  One  would  swear  that  you  had  been  drunken  with 
new  wine ;  but  we  knew  it  was  all  the  effect  of  fasting  and 
devout  contemplation,  which  inebriates  the  soul  with  holy 
raptures,  as  happened  to  the  blessed  Apostles  on  the  day  of 
Pentecost.  I  remarked  the  same  to  our  holy  father,  and  he 
seemed  to  give  it  earnest  heed,  for  I  saw  him  watching  you 
through  all  the  services.  How  blessed  is  such  watchful 
ness  ! " 

"  The  Devil  take  him  ! "  said  Father  Anselmo,  suddenly 
thrown  off  his  guard ;  but  checking  himself,  he  added,  con 
fusedly,  —  "I  mean " 

"  I  understand  you,  brother,"  said  Father  Johannes ;  "  it 
is  a  motion  of  the  old  nature  not  yet  entirely  subdued.  A 
little  more  of  the  discipline  of  the  lower  vaults,  which  you 
have  found  so  precious,  will  set  all  that  right." 

"  You  would  not  inform  against  me  ? "  said  Father  An 
selmo,  with  an  expression  of  alarm. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  193 

"  It  would  be  my  duty,  I  suppose,"  said  Father  Johannes, 
with  a  sigh ;  "  but,  sinner  that  I  am,  I  never  could  bring 
my  mind  to  such  proceedings  with  the  vigor  of  our  blessed 
father.  Had  I  been  Superior  of  the  convent,  as  was  talked 
of,  how  differently  might  things  have  proceeded  !  I  should 
have  erred  by  a  sinful  laxness.  How  fortunate  that  it  was 
he,  instead  of  such  a  miserable  sinner  as  myself!  " 

"Well,  tell  me,  then,  Father  Johannes, — for  your  eyes 
are  shrewd  as  a  lynx's,  —  is  our  good  Superior  so  perfect  as 
he  seems  ?  or  does  he  have  his  little  private  comforts  some 
times,  like  the  rest  of  us  ?  Nobody,  you  know,  can  stand  it 
to  be  always  on  the  top  round  of  the  ladder  to  Paradise. 
For  my  part,  between  you  and  me,  I  never  believed  all  that 
story  they  read  to  us  so  often  about  Saint  Simeon  Stylites, 
who  passed  so  many  years  on  the  top  of  a  pillar  and  never 
came  down.  Trust  me,  the  old  boy  found  his  way  down 
sometimes,  when  all  the  world  was  asleep,  and  got  somebody 
to  do  duty  for  him  meantime,  while  he  took  a  little  some 
thing  comfortable.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  am  told  to  believe,  and  I  do  believe,"  said  Father  Jo 
hannes,  casting  down  his  eyes,  piously  ;  "  and,  dear  brother, 
it  ill  befits  a  sinner  like  me  to  reprove  ;  but  it  seemeth  to 
me  as  if  you  make  too  much  use  of  the  eyes  of  carnal  in 
quiry.  Touching  the  life  of  our  holy  father,  I  cannot  believe 
the  most  scrupulous  watch  can  detect  anything  in  his  walk 
or  conversation  other  than  appears  in  his  profession.  His 
food  is  next  to  nothing,  —  a  little  chopped  spinach  or  some 
bitter  herb  cooked  without  salt  for  ordinary  days,  and  on 
fast  days  he  mingles  this  with  ashes,  according  to  a  saintly 
rule.  As  for  sleep,  I  believe  he  does  without  it ;  for  at  no 
time  of  the  night,  when  I  luive  knocked  at  the  door  of  his 
cell,  have  I  found  him  sleeping.  He  is  always  at  his  prayers 
9 


194  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

or  breviary.  His  cell  hath  only  a  rough,  hard  board  for  a 
bed,  with  a  log  of  rough  wood  for  a  pillow  ;  yet  he  com 
plains  of  that  as  tempting  to  indolence." 

Father  Anselmo  shrugged  his  fat  shoulders,  ruefully. 

"  It 's  all  well  enough,"  he  said,  "  for  those  that  want  to 
take  this  hard  road  to  Paradise ;  but  why  need  they  drive 
the  flock  up  with  them?" 

"  True  enough,  Brother  Anselmo,"  said  Father  Johannes  ; 
"but  the  flock  will  rejoice  in  it  in  the  end,  doubtless.  I 
understand  he  is  purposing  to  draw  yet  stricter  the  reins  of 
discipline.  We  ought  to  be  thankful." 

"  Thankful  ?  We  can't  wink  but  six  times  a  week  now," 
said  Father  Anselmo ;  "  and  by  and  by  he  won't  let  us  wink 
at  all." 

"  Hist !  hush !  here  he  comes,"  said  Father  Johannes. 
"  What  ails  him  ?  he  looks  wild,  like  a  man  distraught." 

In  a  moment  more,  in  fact,  Father  Francesco  strode  hastily 
through  the  corridor,  with  his  deep-set  eyes  dilated  and  glit 
tering,  and  a  vivid  hectic  flush  on  his  hollow  cheeks.  He 
paid  no  regard  to  the  salutation  of  the  obsequious  monks ;  in 
fact,  he  seemed  scarcely  to  see  them,  but  hurried  in  a  disor 
dered  manner  through  the  passages  and  gained  the  room 
of  his  cell,  which  he  shut  and  locked  with  a  violent  clang. 

"  What  has  come  over  him  now  ?  "  said  Father  Anselmo. 

Father  Johannes  stealthily  followed  some  distance,  and 
then  stood  with  his  lean  neck  outstretched  and  his  head 
turned  in  the  direction  where  the  Superior  had  disappeared. 
The  whole  attitude  of  the  man,  with  his  acute  glittering  eye, 
might  remind  one  of  a  serpent  making  an  observation  before 
darting  after  his  prey. 

"Something  is  working  him,"  he  said  to  himself;  "what 
may  it  be?" 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  195 

Meanwhile  that  heavy  oaken  door  had  closed  on  a  narrow 
cell,  —  bare  of  everything  which  could  be  supposed  to  be  a 
matter  of  convenience  in  the  abode  of  a  human  being.  A 
table  of  the  rudest  and  most  primitive  construction  was  gar 
nished  with  a  skull,  whose  empty  eye-holes  and  grinning 
teeth  were  the  most  conspicuous  objects  in  the  room.  Be 
hind  this  stood  a  large  crucifix,  manifestly  the  work  of  no 
common  master,  and  bearing  evident  traces  in  its  workman 
ship  of  Florentine  art :  it  was,  perhaps,  one  of  the  relics  of 
the  former  wealth  of  the  nobleman  who  had  buried  his  name 
and  worldly  possessions  in  this  living  sepulchre.  A  splen 
did  manuscript  breviary,  richly  illuminated,  lay  open  on  the 
table ;  and  the  fair  fancy  of  its  flowery  letters,  the  lustre  of 
gold  and  silver  on  its  pages,  formed  a  singular  contrast  to 
the  squalid  nakedness  of  everything  else  in  the  room.  This 
book,  too,  had  been  a  family  heirloom  ;  some  lingering  shred 
of  human  and  domestic  affection  sheltered  itself  under  the 
protection  of  religion  in  making  it  the  companion  of  his  self- 
imposed  life  of  penance  and  renunciation. 

Father  Francesco  had  just  returned  from  the  scene  in 
the  confessional  we  have  already  described.  That  day  had 
brought  to  him  one  of  those  pungent  and  vivid  inward  rev 
elations  which  sometimes  overset  in  a  moment  some  delusion 
that  has  been  the  cherished  growth  of  years.  Henceforth 
the  reign  of  self-deception  was  past,  —  there  was  no  more 
self-concealment,  no  more  evasion.  He  loved  Agnes,  —  he 
knew  it,  —  he  said  it  over  and  over  again  to  himself  with  a 
stormy  intensity  of  energy  ;  and  in  this  hour  the  whole  of  his 
nature  seemed  to  rise  in  rebellion  against  the  awful  barriers 
which  hemmed  in  and  threatened  this  passion.  He  now  saw 
dearly  that  all  that  he  had  been  calling  fatherly  tenderness, 
pastoral  zeal,  Christian  unity,  and  a  thousand  other  evangel- 


196  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

ical  names,  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 'passion  that 
had  gone  to  the  roots  of  existence  and  absorbed  into  itself  all 
that  there  was  of  him.  Where  was  he  to  look  for  refuge  ? 
What  hymn,  what  prayer  had  he  not  blent  with  her  image  ? 
It  was  this  that  he  had  given  to  her  as  a  holy  lesson,  —  it 
was  that  that  she  had  spoken  of  to  him  as  the  best  expres 
sion  of  her  feelings.  This  prayer  he  had  explained  to  her, 

—  he  remembered  just  the  beautiful  light  in  her  eyes,  which 
were  fixed  on  his  so  trustingly.     How  dear  to  him  had  been 
that  unquestioning  devotion,  that  tender,  innocent  humility  ! 

—  how  dear,  and  how  dangerous ! 

We  have  read  of  flowing  rivulets,  wandering  peacefully 
without  ripple  or  commotion,  so  long  as  no  barrier  stayed 
their  course,  suddenly  chafing  in  angry  fury  when  an  im 
passable  dam  was  thrown  across  their  waters.  So  any 
affection,  however  genial  and  gentle  in  its  own  nature,  may 
become  an  ungovernable,  ferocious  passion,  by  the  interven 
tion  of  fatal  obstacles  in  its  course.  In  the  case  of  Father 
Francesco,  the  sense  of  guilt  and  degradation  fell  like  a 
blight  over  all  the  past  that  had  been  so  ignorantly  happy. 
He  thought  he  had  been  living  on  manna,  but  found  it 
poison.  Satan  had  been  fooling  him,  leading  him  on  blind 
fold,  and  laughing  at  his  simplicity,  and  now  mocked  at  his 
captivity.  And  how  nearly  had  he  been  hurried  by  a  sud 
den  and  overwhelming  influence  to  the  very  brink  of  dis 
grace  !  He  felt  himself  shiver  and  grow  cold  to  think  of  it. 
A  moment  more  and  he  had  blasted  that  pure  ear  with  for 
bidden  words  of  passion  ;  and  even  now  he  remembered, 
with  horror,  the  look  of  grave  and  troubled  surprise  in 
those  confiding  eyes,  that  had  always  looked  up  to  him 
trustingly,  as  to  God.  A  moment  more  and  he  had  be 
trayed  the  faith  he  taught  her,  shattered  her  trust  in  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  197 

holy  ministry,  and  perhaps  imperilled  her  salvation.  He 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  thought  of  it,  —  he  had 
not  betrayed  himself,  he  had  not  fallen  in  her  esteem,  he  still 
stood  on  that  sacred  vantage-ground  where  his  power  over 
her  was  so  great,  and  where  at  least  he  possessed  her  confi 
dence  and  veneration.  There  was  still  time  for  recollection, 
for  self-control,  for  a  vehement  struggle  which  should  set  all 
right  again :  but,  alas !  how  shall  a  man  struggle  who  finds 
his  whole  inner  nature  boiling  in  furious  rebellion  against 
the  dictates  of  his  conscience,  —  self  against  self? 

It  is  true,  also,  that  no  passions  are  deeper  in  their  hold, 
more  pervading  and  more  vital  to  the  whole  human  being, 
than  those  that  make  their  first  entrance  through  the  higher 
nature,  and,  beginning  with  a  religious  and  poetic  ideality, 
gradually  work  their  way  through  the  whole  fabric  of  the 
human  existence.  From  grosser  passions,  whose  roots  lie  in 
the  senses,  there  is  always  a  refuge  in  man's  loftier  nature. 
He  can, cast  them  aside  with  contempt,  and  leave  them  as 
one  whose  lower  story  is  flooded  can  remove  to  a  higher  loft, 
and  live  serenely  with  a  purer  air  and  wider  prospect.  But 
to  love  that  is  born  of  ideality,  of  intellectual  sympathy,  of 
harmonies  of  the  spiritual  and  immortal  nature,  of  the  very 
poetry  and  purity  of  the  soul,  if  it  be  placed  where  reason 
and  religion  forbid  its  exercise  and  expression,  what  refuge 
but  the  grave,  —  what  hope  but  that  wide  eternity  where  all 
human  barriers  fall,  all  human  relations  end,  and  love  ceases 
to  be  a  crime  ?  A  man  of  the  world  may  struggle  by  change 
of  scene,  place,  and  employment.  He  may  put  oceans  be 
tween  himself  and  the  things  that  speak  of  what  he  desires 
to  forget.  He  may  fill  the  void  in  his  life  with  the  stirring 
excitement  of  the  battle-field,  or  the  whirl  of  travel  from 
city  to  city,  or  the  press  of  business  and  care.  But  what 


198  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

help  is  there  for  him  whose  life  is  tied  down  to  the  narrow 
sphere  of  the  convent,  —  to  the  monotony  of  a  bare  cell,  to 
the  endless  repetition  of  the  same  prayers,  the  same  chants, 
the  same  prostrations,  especially  when  all  that  ever  redeemed 
it  from  monotony  has  been  that  image  and  that  sympathy 
which  conscience  now  bids  him  forget  ? 

When  Father  Francesco  precipitated  himself  into  his  cell 
and  locked  the  door,  it  was  with  the  desperation  of  a  man 
who  flies  from  a  mortal  enemy.  It  seemed  to  him  that  all 
eyes  saw  just  what  was  boiling  within  him,  —  that  the  wild 
thoughts  that  seemed  to  scream  their  turbulent  importunities 
in  his  ears  were  speaking  so  loud  that  all  the  world  would 
hear.  He  should  disgrace  himself  before  the  brethren  whom 
he  had  so  long  been  striving  to  bring  to  order  and  to  teach 
the  lessons  of  holy  self-control.  He  saw  himself  pointed  at, 
hissed  at,  degraded,  by  the  very  men  who  had  quailed  before 
his  own  reproofs ;  and  scarcely,  when  he  had  bolted  the  door 
behind  him,  did  he  feel  himself  safe.  Panting  and  breath 
less,  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  the  crucifix,  and,  bowing  his 
head  in  his  hands,  fell  forward  upon  the  floor.  As  a  spent 
wave  melts  at  the  foot  of  a  rock,  so  all  his  strength  passed 
away,  and  he  lay  awhile  in  a  kind  of  insensibility,  —  a  state 
in  which,  though  consciously  existing,  he  had  no  further 
control  over  his  thoughts  and  feelings.  In  that  state  of 
dreamy  exhaustion  his  mind  seemed  like  a  mirror,  which, 
without  vitality  or  will  of  its  own,  simply  lies  still  and 
reflects  the  objects  that  may  pass  over  it.  As  clouds  sail 
ing  in  the  heavens  cast  their  images,  one  after  another,  on 
the  glassy  floor  of  a  waveless  sea,  so  the  scenes  of  his  former 
life  drifted  in  vivid  pictures  athwart  his  memory.  He  saw 
his  father's  palace,  —  the  wide,  cool,  marble  halls,  —  the 
gardens  resounding  with  the  voices  of  falling  waters.  He 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  199 

saw  the  fair  face  of  his  mother,  and  played  with  the  jewels 
upon  her  hands.  He  saw  again  the  picture  of  himself,  in  all 
the  flush  of  youth  and  health,  clattering  on  horseback  through 
the  streets  of  Florence  with  troops  of  gay  young  friends,  now 
dead  to  him  as  he  to  them.  He  saw  himself  in  the  bowers 
of  gay  ladies,  whose  golden  hair,  lustrous  eyes,  and  siren 
wiles  came  back  shivering  and  trembling  in  the  waters  of 
memory  in  a  thousand  undulating  reflections.  There  were 
wild  revels,  —  orgies  such  as  Florence  remembers  with 
shame  to  this  day.  There  was  intermingled  the  turbulent 
din  of  arms,  —  the  haughty  passion,  the  sudden  provocation, 
the  swift  revenge.  And  then  came  the  awful  hour  of  con 
viction,  the  face  of  that  wonderful  man  whose  preaching  had 
Btirred  all  souls,  —  and  then  those  fearful  days  of  penance, 
' —  that  darkness  of  the  tomb,  —  that  dying  to  the  world,  — 
those  solemn  vows,  and  the  fearful  struggles  by  which  they 
had  been  followed. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  is  it  all  in  vain  ?  —  so  many 
prayers  ?  so  many  struggles  ?  —  and  shall  I  fail  of  salvation 
at  last?" 

He  seemed  to  himself  as  a  swimmer,  who,  having  ex 
hausted  his  last  gasp  of  strength  in  reaching  the  shore,  is 
suddenly  lifted  up  on  a  cruel  wave  and  drawn  back  into  the 
deep.  There  seemed  nothing  for  him  but  to  fold  his  arms 
and  sink. 

For  he  felt  no  strength  now  to  resist,  —  he  felt  no  wish 
to  conquer,  —  he  only  prayed  that  he  might  lie  there  and  die. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  love  which  possessed  him  and 
tyrannized  over  his  very  being  was  a  doom,  —  a  curse  sent 
upon  him  by  some  malignant  fate  with  whose  power  it  was 
vain  to  struggle.  He  detested  his  work,  —  he  detested  his 
duties,  —  he  loathed  his  vows,  —  and  there  was  not  a  thing 


200  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

in  his  whole  future  to  which  he  looked  forward  otherwise 
than  with  the  extreme  of  aversion,  except  one  to  which  he 
clung  with  a  bitter  and  defiant  tenacity,  —  the  spiritual  guid 
ance  of  Agnes.  Guidance  !  —  he  laughed  aloud,  in  the 
bitterness  of  his  soul,  as  he  thought  of  this.  He  was  her 
guide,  —  her  confessor,  —  to  him  she  was  bound  to  reveal 
every  change  of  feeling;  and  this  love  that  he  too  well 
perceived  rising  in  her  heart  for  another,  —  he  would  wring 
from  her  own  confessions  the  means  to  repress  and  circum 
vent  it.  If  she  could  not  be  his,  he  might  at  least  prevent 
her  from  belonging  to  any  other,  —  he  might  at  least  keep 
her  always  within  the  sphere  of  his  spiritual  authority.  Had 
he  not  a  right  to  do  this  ?  —  had  he  not  a  right  to  cherish  an 
evident  vocation, —  a  right  to  reclaim  her  from  the  embrace 
of  an  excommunicated  infidel,  and  present  her  as  a  chaste 
bride  at  the  altar  of  the  Lord  ?  Perhaps,  when  that  was 
done,  when  an  irrevocable  barrier  should  separate  her  from 
all  possibility  of  earthly  love,  when  the  awful  marriage-vow 
should  have  been  spoken  which  should  seal  her  heart  for 
heaven  alone,  he  might  recover  some  of  the  blessed  calm 
which  her  influence  once  brought  over  him,  and  these  wild 
desires  might  cease,  and  these  feverish  pulses  be  still. 

Such  were  the  vague  images  and  dreams  of  the  past  and 
future  that  floated  over  his  mind,  as  he  lay  in  a  heavy  sort 
of  lethargy  on  the  floor  of  his  cell,  and  hour  after  hour 
passed  away.  It  grew  afternoon,  and  the  radiance  of  even 
ing  came  on.  The  window  of  the  cell  overlooked  the  broad 
Mediterranean,  all  one  blue  glitter  of  smiles  and  sparkles. 
The  white-winged  boats  were  flitting  lightly  to  &nd  fro,  like 
gauzy-winged  insects  in  the  summer  air,  —  the  song  of  the 
fishermen  drawing  their  nets  on  the  beach  floated  cheerily 
upward.  Capri  lay  like  a  half-dissolved  opal  in  shimmering 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  201 

clouds  of  mist,  and  Naples  gleamed  out  pearly  clear  in  the 
purple  distance.  Vesuvius,  with  its  cloud-spotted  sides,  its 
garlanded  villas  and  villages,  its  silvery  crown  of  vapor, 
seemed  a  warm-hearted  and  genial  old  giant  lying  down  in 
his  gorgeous  repose,  and  holding  all  things  on  his  heaving 
bosom  in  a  kindly  embrace. 

So  was  the  earth  flooded  with  light  and  glory,  that  the  tide 
poured  into  the  cell,  giving  the  richness  of  an  old  Venetian 
painting  to  its  bare  and  squalid  furniture.  The  crucifix 
glowed  along  all  its  sculptured  lines  with  rich  golden  hues. 
The  breviary,  whose  many-colored  leaves  fluttered  as  the 
wind  from  the  sea  drew  inward,  was  yet  brighter  in  its  gor 
geous  tints.  It  seemed  a  sort  of  devotional  butterfly  perched 
before  the  grinning  skull,  which  was  bronzed  by  the  en 
chanted  light  into  warmer  tones  of  color,  as  if  some  remem 
brance  of  what  once  it  saw  and  felt  came  back  upon  it.  So 
also  the  bare,  miserable  board  which  served  for  the  bed,  and 
its  rude  pillow,  were  glorified.  A  stray  sunbeam,  too,  flut 
tered  down  on  the  floor  like  a  pitying  spirit,  to  light  up  that 
pale,  thin  face,  whose  classic  outlines  had  now  a  sharp, 
yellow  setness,  like  that  of  swooning  or  death  ;  it  seemed  to 
linger  compassionately  on  the  sunken,  wasted  cheeks,  on  the 
long  black  lashes  that  fell  over  the  deep  hollows  beneath  the 
eyes  like  a  funereal  veil.  Poor  man !  lying  crushed  and  torn, 
like  a  piece  of  rockweed  wrenched  from  its  rock  by  a  storm, 
and  thrown  up  withered  upon  the  beach ! 

From  the  leaves  of  the  breviary  there  depends,  by  a  frag 
ment  of  gold  braid,  a  sparkling  something  that  wavers  and 
glitters  in  the  evening  light.  It  is  a  cross  of  the  cheapest 
and  simplest  material,  that  once  belonged  to  Agnes.  She 
lost  it  from  her  rosary  at  the  confessional,  and  Father  Fran 
cesco  saw  it  fall,  yet  would  not  warn  her  of  the  loss,  for  he 
9* 


202  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

longed  to  possess  something  that  had  belonged  to  her.  He 
made  it  a  mark  to  one  of  her  favorite  hymns ;  but  she  never 
knew  where  it  had  gone.  Little  could  she  dream,  in  her 
simplicity,  what  a  power  she  held  over  the  man  who  seemed 
to  her  an  object  of  such  awful  veneration.  Little  did  she 
dream  that  the  poor  little  tinsel  cross  had  such  a  mighty 
charm  with  it,  and  that  she  herself,  in  her  childlike  simplic 
ity,  her  ignorant  innocence,  her  peaceful  tenderness  and 
trust,  was  raising  such  a  turbulent  storm  of  passion  in  the 
heart  which  she  supposed  to  be  above  the  reach  of  all  human 
changes. 

And  now,  through  the  golden  air,  the  Ave  Maria  is  sound 
ing  from  the  convent-bells,  and  answered  by  a  thousand  tones 
and  echoes  from  the  churches  of  the  old  town,  and  all  Chris 
tendom  gives  a  moment's  adoring  pause  to  celebrate  the 
moment  when  an  angel  addressed  to  a  mortal  maiden  words 
that  had  been  wept  and  prayed  for  during  thousands  of  years. 
Dimly  they  sounded  through  his  ear,  in  that  half-deadly 
trance,  —  not  with  plaintive  sweetness  and  motherly  tender 
ness,  but  like  notes  of  doom  and  vengeance.  He  felt  rebel 
lious  impulses  within,  which  rose  up  in  hatred  against  them, 
and  all  that  recalled  to  his  mind  the  faith  which  seemed  a 
tyranny,  and  the  vows  which  appeared  to  him  such  a  hope 
less  and  miserable  failure. 

But  now  there  came  other  sounds  nearer  and  more  earthly. 
His  quickened  senses  perceive  a  busy  patter  of  sandalled 
feet  outside  his  cell,  and  a  whispering  of  consultation,  —  and 
then  the  silvery,  snaky  tones  of  Father  Johannes,  which  had 
that  oily,  penetrative  quality  which  passes  through  all  sub 
stances  with  such  distinctness. 

"  Brethren,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  bound  in  conscience  to  knock. 
Our  blessed  Superior  carries  his  mortifications  altogether 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  203 

too  far.  His  faithful  sons  must  beset  him  with  filial  in 
quiries." 

The  condition  in  which  Father  Francesco  was  lying,  like 
many  abnormal  states  of  extreme  exhaustion,  seemed  to  be 
attended  with  a  mysterious  quickening  of  the  magnetic 
forces  and  intuitive  perceptions.  He  felt  the  hypocrisy  of 
those  tones,  and  they  sounded  in  his  ear  like  the  suppressed 
hiss  of  a  deadly  serpent.  He  had  always  suspected  that  this 
man  hated  him  to  the  death ;  and  he  felt  now  that  he  was 
come  with  his  stealthy  tread  and  his  almost  supernatural 
power  of  prying  observation,  to  read  the  very  inmost  secrets 
of  his  heart.  He  knew  that  he  longed  for  nothing  so  much 
as  the  power  to  hurl  him  from  his  place  and  to  reign  in  his 
stead;  and  the  instinct  of  self-defence  roused  him.  He 
started  up  as  one  starts  from  a  dream,  waked  by  a  whisper 
in  the  ear,  and,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  looked  towards 
the  door. 

A  cautious  rap  was  heard,  and  then  a  pause.  Father 
Francesco  smiled  with  a  peculiar  and  bitter  expression.  The 
rap  became  louder,  more  energetic,  stormy  at  last,  inter 
mingled  with  vehement  calls  on  his  name. 

Father  Francesco  rose  at  length,  settled  his  garments, 
passed  his  hands  over  his  brow,  and  then,  composing  himself 
to  an  expression  of  deliberate  gravity,  opened  the  door  and 
stood  before  them. 

"  Holy  father,"  said  Father  Johannes,  "the  hearts  of  your 
sons  have  been  saddened.  A  whole  day  have  you  withdrawn 
your  presence  from  our  devotions.  We  feared  you  might 
have  fainted,  your  pious  austerities  so  often  transcend  the 
powers  of  Nature." 

"  I  grieve  to  have  saddened  the  hearts  of  such  affectionate 
sons,"  said  the  Superior,  fixing  his  eye  keenly  on  Father 


204  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

Johannes  ;  "  but  I  have  been  performing  a  peculiar  office  of 
prayer  to-day  for  a  soul  in  deadly  peril,  and  have  been  so 
absorbed  therein  that  I  have  known  nothing  that  passed. 
There  is  a  soul  among  us,  brethren,"  he  added,  "  that  stands 
at  this  moment  so  near  to  damnation  that  even  the  most 
blessed  Mother  of  God  is  in  doubt  for  its  salvation,  and 
whether  it  can  be  saved  at  all  God  only  knows." 

These  words,  rising  up  from  a  tremendous  groundswell  of 
repressed  feeling,  had  a  fearful,  almost  supernatural  earnest 
ness  that  made  the  body  of  the  monks  tremble.  Most  of 
them  were  conscious  of  living  but  a  shabby,  shambling,  dis 
sembling  life,  evading  in  very  possible  way  the  efforts  of 
their  Superior  to  bring  them  up  to  the  requirements  of  their 
profession  ;  and  therefore,  when  these  words  were  bolted 
out  among  them  witli  such  a  glowing  intensity,  every  one  of 
them  began  mentally  feeling  for  the  key  of  his  own  private 
and  interior  skeleton-closet,  and  wondering  which  of  their 
ghastly  occupants  was  coming  to  light  now. 

Father  Johannes  alone  was  unmoved,  because  he  had 
long  since  ceased  to  have  a  conscience.  A  throb  of  moral 
pulsation  had  for  years  been  an  impossibility  to  the  dried 
and  hardened  fibre  of  his  inner  nature.  He  was  one  of 
those  real,  genuine,  thorough  unbelievers  in  all  religion  and 
all  faith  and  all  spirituality,  whose  unbelief  grows  only  more 
callous  by  the  constant  handling  of  sacred  things.  Ambi 
tion  was  the  ruling  motive  of  his  life,  and  every  faculty 
was  sharpened  into  such  acuteness  under  its  action  that  his 
penetration  seemed  at  times  almost  preternatural. 

While  he  stood  with  downcast  eyes  and  hands  crossed 
upon  his  breast,  listening  to  the  burning  words  which  re 
morse  and  despair  wrung  from  his  Superior,  he  was  calmly 
and  warily  studying  to  see  what  could  be  made  of  the  evi- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  205 

dent  interior  conflict  that  convulsed  him.  Was  there  some 
secret  sin  ?  Had  that  sanctity  at  last  found  the  temptation 
that  was  more  than  a  match  for  it  ?  And  what  could 
it  be? 

To  a  nature  with  any  strong  combative  force  there  is  no 
tonic  like  the  presence  of  a  secret  and  powerful  enemy,  and 
the  stealthy  glances  of  Father  Johannes's  serpent  eye  did 
more  towards  restoring  Father  Francesco  to  self-mastery 
than  the  most  conscientious  struggles  could  have  done.  He 
grew  calm,  resolved,  determined.  Self-respect  was  dear  to 
him,  —  and  dear  to  him  no  less  that  reflection  of  self-respect 
which  a  man  reads  in  other  eyes.  He  would  not  forfeit  his 
conventual  honor,  or  bring  a  stain  on  his  order,  or,  least 
of  all,  expose  himself  to  the  scoffing  eye  of  a  triumphant 
enemy.  Such  were  the  motives  that  now  came  to  his  aid, 
while  as  yet  the  whole  of  his  inner  nature  rebelled  at  the 
thought  that  he  must  tear  up  by  the  roots  and  wholly  ex 
tirpate  this  love  that  seemed  to  have  sent  its  fine  fibres 
through  every  nerve  of  his  being.  "  No  !  "  he  said  to  him 
self,  with  a  fierce  interior  rebellion,  "  that  I  will  not  do  ! 
Right  or  wrong,  come  heaven,  come  hell,  I  will  love  her : 
and  if  lost  I  must  be,  lost  I  will  be  !  "  And  while  this 
determination  lasted,  prayer  seemed  to  him  a  mockery.  He 
dared  not  pray  alone  now,  when  most  he  needed  prayer ; 
but  he  moved  forward  with  dignity  towards  the  convent- 
chapel  to  lead  the  vesper  devotions  of  his  brethren.  Out 
wardly  he  was  calm  and  rigid  as  a  statue ;  but  as  he  com 
menced  the  service,  his  utterance  had  a  terrible  meaning 
and  earnestness  that  were  felt  even  by  the  most  drowsy  and 
leaden  of  his  flock.  It  is  singular  how  the  dumb,  imprisoned 
soul,  locked  within  the  walls  of  the  body,  sometimes  gives 
such  a  piercing  power  to  the  tones  of  the  voice  during  the 


206  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

access  of  a  great  agony.  The  effect  is  entirely  involuntary, 
and  often  against  the  most  strenuous  opposition  of  the  will ; 
but  one  sometimes  hears  another  reading  or  repeating  words 
with  an  intense  vitality,  a  living  force,  which  tells  of  some 
inward  anguish  or  conflict  of  which  the  language  itself  gives 
no  expression. 

Never  were  the  long-drawn  intonations  of  the  chants  and 
prayers  of  the  Church  pervaded  by  a  more  terrible,  wild 
fervor  than  the  Superior  that  night  breathed  into  them. 
They  seemed  to  wail,  to  supplicate,  to  combat,  to  menace, 
to  sink  in  despairing  pauses  of  helpless  anguish,  and  anon  to 
rise  in  stormy  agonies  of  passionate  importunity ;  and  the 
monks  quailed  and  trembled,  they  scarce  knew  why,  with 
forebodings  of  coming  wrath  and  judgment. 

In  the  evening  exhortation,  which  it  had  been  the  Supe 
rior's  custom  to  add  to  the  prayers  of  the  vesper-hour,  he 
dwelt  with  a  terrible  and  ghastly  eloquence  on  the  loss  of 
the  soul. 

"  Brethren,"  he  said,  "  believe  me,  the  very  first  hour  of 
a  damned  spirit  in  hell  will  outweigh  all  the  prosperities 
of  the  most  prosperous  life.  If  you  could  gain  the  whole 
world,  that  one  hour  of  hell  would  outweigh  it  all ;  how 
much  more  such  miserable,  pitiful  scraps  and  fragments  of 
the  world  as  they  gain  who  for  the  sake  of  a  little  fleshly 
ease  neglect  the  duties  of  a  holy  profession  !  There  is  a 
broad  way  to  hell  through  a  convent,  my  brothers,  where 
miserable  wretches  go  who  have  neither  the  spirit  to  serve 
the  Devil  wholly,  nor  the  patience  to  serve  God  ;  there  be 
many  shaven  crowns  that  gnash*  their  teeth  in  hell  to-night, 
—  many  a  monk's  robe  is  burning  on  its  owner  in  living 
fire,  and  the  devils  call  him  a  fool  for  choosing  to  be  damned 
in  so  hard  a  way.  '  Could  you  not  come  here  by  some 


AGNES   OF   SOF.11ENTO.  207 

easier  road  than  a  cloister  ? '  they  ask.  *  If  you  must  sell 
your  soul,  why  did  you  not  get  something  for  it  ? '  Breth 
ren,  there  be  devils  waiting  for  some  of  us  ;  they  are  laugh 
ing  at  your  paltry  shifts  and  evasions,  at  your  efforts  to 
make  things  easy,  —  for  they  know  how  it  will  all  end  at 
last.  E-ouse  yourselves !  Awake !  Salvation  is  no  easy 
matter,  —  nothing  to  be  got  between  sleeping  and  waking. 
Watch,  pray,  scourge  the  flesh,  fast,  weep,  bow  down  in 
sackcloth,  mingle  your  bread  with  ashes,  if  by  any  means 
ye  may  escape  the  everlasting  fire ! " 

"  Bless  me ! "  said  Father  Anselmo,  when  the  services 
were  over,  casting  a  half-scared  glance  after  the  retreating 
figure  of  the  Superior  as  he  left  the  chapel,  and  drawing  a. 
long  breath  ;  "  it 's  enough  to  make  one  sweat  to  hear  him 
go  on.  What  has  come  over  him  ?  Anyhow,  I  '11  give 
myself  a  hundred  lashes  this  very  night :  something  must 
be  done." 

"  Well,"  said  another,  "  I  confess  I  did  hide  a  cold  wing 
of  fowl  in  the  sleeve  of  my  gown  last  fast-day.  My  old 
aunt  gave  it  to  me,  and  I  was  forced  to  take  it  for  relation's 
sake  ;  but  I  '11  do  so  no  more,  as  I  'm  a  living  sinner.  I  '11 
do  a  penance  this  very  night." 

Father  Johannes  stood  under  one  of  the  arches  that 
looked  into  the  gloomy  garden,  and,  with  his  hands  crossed 
upon  his  breast,  and  his  cold,  glittering  eye  fixed  stealthily 
now  on  one  and  now  on  another,  listened  with  an  ill-dis 
guised  sneer  to  these  hasty  evidences  of  fear  and  remorse  in 
the  monks,  as  they  thronged  the  corridor  on  the  way  to  their 
cells.  Suddenly  turning  to  a  young  brother  who  had  lately 
joined  the  convent,  he  said  to  him,  — 

"  And  what  of  the  pretty  Clarice,  my  brother  ?  " 

The  blood  flushed  deep  into  the  pale  cheek  of  the  young 


208  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

monk,  and  his  frame  shook  with  some  interior  emotion  as 
he  answered,  — 

"  She  is  recovering." 

"  And  she  sent  for  thee  to  shrive  her  ?  " 

"  My  God ! "  said  the  young  man,  with  an  imploring, 
wild  expression  in  his  dark  eyes,  "  she  did ;  but  I  would 
not  go." 

"  Then  Nature  is  still  strong,"  said  Father  Johannes,  piti 
lessly  eying  the  young  man. 

"  When  will  it  ever  die  ? "  said  the  stripling,  with  a  de 
spairing  gesture ;  "  it  heeds  neither  heaven  nor  hell." 

"  Well,  patience,  boy !  if  you  have  lost  an  earthly  bride, 
you  have  gained  a  heavenly  one.  The  Church  is  our  es 
poused  in  white  linen.  Bless  the  Lord,  without  ceasing,  for 
the  exchange." 

There  was  an  inexpressible  mocking  irony  in  the  tones  in 
which  this  was  said,  that  made  itself  felt  to  the  finely  vital 
ized  spirit  of  the  youth,  though  to  all  the  rest  it  sounded  like 
the  accredited  average  pious  talk  which  is  more  or  less  the 
current  coin  of  religious  organizations. 

Now  no  one  knows  through  what  wanton  deviltry  Father 
Johannes  broached  this  painful  topic  with  the  poor  youth ; 
but  he  had  a  peculiar  faculty,  with  his  smooth  tones  and  his 
sanctimonious  smiles,  of  thrusting  red-hot  needles  into  any 
wounds  which  he  either  knew  or  suspected  under  the  coarse 
woollen  robes  of  his  brethren.  He  appeared  to  do  it  in  all 
coolness,  in  a  way  of  psychological  investigation. 

He  smiled,  as  the  youth  turned  away,  and  a  moment  after 
started  as  if  a  thought  had  suddenly  struck  him. 

"  I  have  it ! "  he  said  to  himself.  "  There  may  be  a 
woman  at  the  bottom  of  this  discomposure  of  our  holy 
father;  for  he  is  wrought  upon  by  something  to  the  very 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  209 

bottom  of  his  soul.  I  have  not  studied  human  nature  so 
many  years  for  nothing.  Father  Francesco  hath  been  much 
in  the  guidance  of  women.  His  preaching  hath  wrought 
upon  them,  and  perchance  among  them.  —  Aha  ! "  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  paced  up  and  down.  "  I  have  it !  I  '11  try 
an  experiment  upon  him  !  " 


210  AGNES  OF  SORKENTO. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  SERPENT'S  EXPERIMENT. 

FATHER  FRANCESCO  sat  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand 
by  the  window  of  his  cell,  looking  out  upon  the  sea  as  it  rose 
and  fell,  with  the  reflections  of  the  fast  coming  stars  glitter 
ing  like  so  many  jewels  on  its  breast.  The  glow  of  evening 
had  almost  faded,  but  there  was  a  wan,  tremulous  light  from 
the  moon,  and  a  clearness  produced  by  the  reflection  of  such 
an  expanse  of  water,  which  still  rendered  objects  in  his  cell 
quite  discernible. 

In  the  terrible  denunciations  and  warnings  just  uttered,  he 
had  been  preaching  to  himself,  striving  to  bring  a  force  on 
his  own  soul  by  which  he  might  reduce  its  interior  rebellion 
to  submission  ;  but,  alas !  when  was  ever  love  cast  out  by 
fear  ?  He  knew  not  as  yet  the  only  remedy  for  such  sorrow, 
—  that  there  is  a  love  celestial  and  divine,  of  which  earth 
ly  love  in  its  purest  form  is  only  the  sacramental  symbol  and 
emblem,  and  that  this  divine  love  can  by  God's  power  so 
outflood  human  affections  as  to  bear  the  soul  above  all 
earthly  idols  to  its  only  immortal  rest.  This  great  truth 
rises  like  a  rock  amid  stormy  seas,  and  many  is  the  sailor 
struggling  in  salt  and  bitter  waters  who  cannot  yet  believe 
it  is  to  be  found.  A  few  saints  like  Saint  Augustin  had 
reached  it,  —  but  through  what  buffetings,  what  anguish  ! 

At  this  moment,  however,  there  was  in  the  heart  of  the 
father  one  of  those  collapses  which  follow  the  crisis  of  some 
mortal  struggle.  He  leaned  on  the  window-sill,  exhausted 
and  helpless. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  211 

Suddenly,  a  kind  of  illusion  of  the  senses  came  over  him, 
such  as  is  not  infrequent  to  sensitive  natures  in  severe  crises 
of  mental  anguish.  He  thought  he  heard  Agnes  singing,  as 
he  had  sometimes  heard,  her  when  he  had  called  in  his  pas 
toral  ministrations  at  the  little  garden  and  paused  awhile 
outside  that  he  might  hear  her  finish  a  favorite  hymn,  which, 
like  a  shy  bird,  she  sung  all  the  more  sweetly  for  thinking 
herself  alone. 

Quite  as  if  they  were  sung  in  his  ear,  and  in  her  very 
tones,  he  heard  the  words  of  Saint  Bernard,  which  we  have 
already  introduced  to  our  reader  :  — 

"  Jesu  dulcis  memoria, 
Dans  vera  cordi  gaudia: 
Sed  super  mel  et  oninia 
Ejus  dulcis  praesentia. 


'Jesu,  spes  pomitentibus, 
Quam  pius  es  petentibus, 
Quam  bonus  te  quaerentibus, 
Sed  quis  invenientibus !  " 


Soft  and  sweet  and  solemn  was  the  illusion,  as  if  some  spirit 
breathed  them  with  a  breath  of  tenderness  over  his  soul ; 
and  he  threw  himself  with  a  burst  of  tears  before  the  cru 
cifix. 

"  O  Jesus,  where,  then,  art  Thou  ?  Why  must  I  thus 
suffer  ?  She  is  not  the  one  altogether  lovely  ;  it  is  Thou,  — 
Thou,  her  Creator  and  mine  !  Why,  why  cannot  I  find 
Thee  ?  Oh,  take  from  my  heart  all  other  love  but  Thine 
alone ! " 

Yet  even  this  very  prayer,  this  very  hymn,  were  blent 
with  the  remembrance  of  Agnes  ;  for  was  it  not  she  who  first 
had  taught  him  the  lesson  of  heavenly  love  ?  Was  not  she 
the  first  one  who  had  taught  him  to  look  upward  to  Jesus 


212  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

other  than  as  an  avenging  judge  ?  Michel  Angelo  has 
embodied  in  a  fearful  painting,  which  now  deforms  the  Sis- 
tine  Chapel,  that  image  of  stormy  vengeance  which  a  re 
ligion  debased  by  force  and  fear  had  substituted  for  the 
tender,  good  shepherd  of  earlier  Christianity.  It  was  only 
in  the  heart  of  a  lowly  maiden  that  Christ  had  been  made 
manifest  to  the  eye  of  the  monk,  as  of  old  he  was  revealed 
to  the  world  through  a  virgin.  And  how  could  he,  then, 
forget  her,  or  cease  to  love  her,  when  every  prayer  and 
hymn,  every  sacred  round  of  the  ladder  by  which  he  must 
climb,  was  so  full  of  memorials  of  her  ?  While  crying  and 
panting  for  the  supreme,  the  divine,  the  invisible  love,  he 
found  his  heart  still  craving  the  visible  one,  —  the  one  so 
well  known,  revealing  itself  to  the  senses,  and  bringing  with 
it  the  certainty  of  visible  companionship. 

As  he  was  thus  kneeling  and  wrestling  with  himself,  a 
sudden  knock  at  his  door  startled  him.  He  had  made  it  a 
point,  never,  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  to  deny  him 
self  to  a  brother  who  sought  him  for  counsel,  however  dis 
agreeable  the  person  and  however  unreasonable  the  visit. 
He  therefore  rose  and  unbolted  the  door,  and  saw  Father 
Johannes  standing  with  folded  arms  and  downcast  head,  in 
an  attitude  of  composed  humility. 

"  What  would  you  with  me,  brother  ?  "  he  asked,  calmly. 

"  My  father,  I  have  a  wrestling  of  mind  for  one  of  our 
brethren  whose  case  I  would  present  to  you." 

"  Come  in,  my  brother,"  said  the  Superior.  At  the  same 
time  he  lighted  a  little  iron  lamp,  of  antique  form,  such  as 
are  still  in  common  use  in  that  region,  and  seating  himself 
on  the  board  which  served  for  his  couch,  made  a  motion  to 
Father  Johannes  to  be  seated  also. 

The  latter  sat  down,  eying,  as  he  did  so,  the  whole  in- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  213 

terior  of  the  apartment,  so  far  as  it  was  revealed  by  the  glim 
mer  of  the  taper. 

"  Well,  my  son,"  said  Father  Francesco,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

'•  I  have  rny  doubts  of  the  spiritual  safety  of  Brother  Ber 
nard/'  said  Father  Johannes. 

"  Wherefore?"  asked  the  Superior,  briefly. 

44  Holy  father,  you  are  aware  of  the  history  of  the  brother, 
mid  of  the  worldly  affliction  that  drove  him  to  this  blessed 
profession  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  replied  the  Superior,  with  the  same  brevity. 

"  He  narrated  it  to  me  fully,"  said  Father  Johannes. 
"  The  maiden  he  was  betrothed  to  was  married  to  another 
in  his  absence  on  a  long  journey,  being  craftily  made  to  sup 
pose  him  dead." 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  the  circumstances,"  said  the  Superior. 

"  I  merely  recalled  them,  because,  moved  doubtless  by 
your  sermon,  he  dropped  words  to  me  to-night  which  led  me 
to  suppose  that  this  sinful,  earthly  love  was  not  yet  extir 
pated  from  his  soul.  Of  late  the  woman  was  sick  and  nigh 
unto  death,  and  sent  for  him." 

"  But  he  did  not  go  ?  "  interposed  Father  Francesco. 

"  No,  he  did  not,  —  grace  was  given  him  thus  far,  —  but 
he  dropped  words  to  me  to  the  effect,  that  in  secret  he  still 
cherished  the  love  of  this  woman ;  and  the  awful  words 
your  Reverence  has  been  speaking  to  us  to-night  have 
moved  me  with  fear  for  the  youth's  soul,  of  the  which  I,  as 
an  elder  brother,  have  had  some  charge,  and  I  came  to  con 
sult  with  you  as  to  what  help  there  might  be  for  him." 

Father  Francesco  turned  away  his  head  a  moment  and 
there  was  a  pause ;  at  last  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  seemed 
like  the  throb  of  some  deep,  interior  anguish,  — 

"  The  Lord  help  him  !  " 


214  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Father  Johannes,  taking  keen  note  of  the 
apparent  emotion. 

"  You  must  have  experience  in  these  matters,  my  father," 
he  added,  after  a  pause,  —  "  so  many  hearts  have  been  laid 
open  to  you.  'I  would  crave  to  know  of  you  what  you  think 
is  the  safest  and  most  certain  cure  for  this  love  of  woman,  if 
once  it  hath  got  possession  of  the  heart." 

"  Death  !  "  said  Father  Francesco,  after  a  solemn  pause. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Father  Johannes. 

"  My  son,"  said  Father  Francesco,  rising  up  with  an  air 
of  authority,  "  you  do  not  understand,  —  there  is  nothing  in 
you  by  which  you  should  understand.  This  unhappy  brother 
hath  opened  his  case  to  me,  and  I  have  counselled  him  all  I 
know  of  prayer  and  fastings  and  watchings  and  mortifica 
tions.  Let  him  persevere  in  the  same ;  and  if  all  these  fail, 
the  good  Lord  will  send  the  other  in  His  own  time.  There 
is  an  end  to  all  things  in  this  life,  and  that  end  shall  certainly 
come  at  last.  Bid  him  persevere  and  hope  in  this.  —  And 
now,  brother,"  added  the  Superior,  with  dignity,  "  if  you 
have  no  other  query,  time  flies  and  eternity  comes  on, — 
go,  watch  and  pray,  and  leave  me  to  my  prayers,  also." 

He  raised  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  benediction,  and 
Father  Johannes,  awed  in  spite  of  himself,  felt  impelled  to 
leave  the  apartment. 

"  Is  it  so,  or  is  it  not  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  cannot  tell.  He  did 
seem  to  wince  and  turn  away  his  head  when  I  proposed  the 
case  ;  but  then  he  made  fight  at  last.  I  cannot  tell  whether 
I  have  got  any  advantage  or  not ;  but  patience !  we  shall 
see!" 


AGNES  OF  SOKKENTO.  215 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

ELSIE    PUSHES    HER    SCHEME. 

THE  good  Father  Antonio  returned  from  his  conference 
with  the  cavalier  with  many  subjects  for  grave  pondering. 
This  man,  as  he  conjectured,  so  far  from  being  an  enemy 
either  of  Church  or  State,  was  in  fact  in  many  respects  in 
the  same  position  with  his  revered  master,  —  as  nearly  so 
as  the  position  of  a  layman  was  likely  to  resemble  that  of 
an  ecclesiastic.  His  denial  of  the  Visible  Church,  as  rep 
resented  by  the  Pope  and  Cardinals,  sprang  not  from  an 
irreverent,  but  from  a  reverent  spirit.  To  accept  them  as 
exponents  of  Christ  and  Christianity  was  to  blaspheme  and 
traduce  both,  and  therefore  he  only  could  be  counted  in  the 
highest  degree  Christian  who  stood  most  completely  opposed 
to  them  in  spirit  and  practice. 

His  kind  and  fatherly  heart  was  interested  in  the  brave 
young  nobleman.  He  sympathized  fully  with  the  situation 
in  which  he  stood,  and  he  even  wished  success  to  his  love ; 
but  then  how  was  he  to  help  him  with  Agnes,  and  above  all 
with  her  old  grandmother,  without  entering  on  the  awful  task 
of  condemning  and  exposing  that  sacred  authority  which  all 
the  Church  had  so  many  years  been  taught  to  regard  as  in 
fallibly  inspired  ?  Long  had  all  the  truly  spiritual  members 
of  the  Church  who  gave  ear  to  the  teachings  of  Savonarola 
felt  that  the  nearer  they  followed  Christ  the  more  open  was 
their  growing  antagonism  to  the  Pope  and  the  Cardinals; 


216  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

but  still  they  hung  back  from  the  responsibility  of  inviting 
the  people  to  an  open  revolt. 

Father  Antonio  felt  his  soul  deeply  stirred  with  the  news 
of  the  excommunication  of  his  saintly  master ;  and  he  mar 
velled,  as  he  tossed  on  his  restless  bed  through  the  night, 
how  he  was  to  meet  the  storm.  He  might  have  known,  had 
he  been  able  to  look  into  a  crowded  assembly  in  Florence 
about  this  time,  when  the  unterrified  monk  thus  met  the 
news  of  his  excommunication  :  — 

"  There  have  come  decrees  from  Rome,  have  there  ? 
They  call  me  a  son  of  perdition.  Well,  thus  may  you 
answer :  —  He  to  whom  you  give  this  name  hath  neither 
favorites  nor  concubines,  but  gives  himself  solely  to  preach 
ing  Christ.  His  spiritual  sons  and  daughters,  those  who 
listen  to  his  doctrine,  do  not  pass  their  time  in  infamous 
practices.  They  confess,  they  receive  the  communion,  they 
live  honestly.  This  man  gives  himself  up  to  exalt  the 
Church  of  Christ :  you  to  destroy  it.  The  time  approaches 
for  opening  the  secret  chamber :  we  will  give  but  one  turn 
of  the  key,  and  there  will  come  out  thence  such  an  infection, 
such  a  stench  of  this  city  of  Rome,  that  the  odor  shall  spread 
through  all  Christendom,  and  all  the  world  shall  be  sick 
ened." 

But  Father  Antonio  was  of  himself  wholly  unable  to  come 
to  such  a  courageous  result,  though  capable  of  following  to 
the  death  the  master  who  should  do  it  for  him.  His  was  the 
true  artist  nature,  as  unfit  to  deal  with  rough  human  forces 
as  a  bird  that  flies  through  the  air  is  unfitted  to  a  hand-to- 
hand  grapple  with  the  armed  forces  of  the  lower  world. 
There  is  strength  in  these  artist  natures.  Curious  com 
putations  have  been  made  of  the  immense  muscular  power 
that  is  brought  into  exercise  when  a  swallow  skims  so 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  217 

smoothly  through  the  blue  sky  ;  but  the  strength  is  of  a 
kind  unadapted  to  mundane  uses,  and  needs  the  ether  for 
its  display.  Father  Antonio  could  create  the  beautiful ;  he 
could  warm,  could  elevate,  qould  comfort ;  and  when  a 
stronger  nature  went  before  him,  he  could  follow  with  an 
unquestioning  tenderness  of  devotion :  but  he  wanted  the 
sharp,  downright  power  of  mind  that  could  cut  and  cleave 
its  way  through  the  rubbish  of  the  past,  when  its  institutions, 
instead  of  a  commodious  dwelling,  had  come  to  be  a  loath 
some  prison.  Besides,  the  true  artist  has  ever  an  enchanted 
island  of  his  own ;  and  when  this  world  perplexes  and 
wearies  him,  he  can  sail  far  away  and  lay  his  soul  down  to 
rest,  as  Cytherea  bore  the  sleeping  Ascanius  far  from  the 
din  of  battle,  to  sleep  on  flowers  and  breathe  the  odor  of  a 
hundred  undying  altars  to  Beauty. 

Therefore,  after  a  restless  night,  the  good  monk  arose  in 
the  first  purple  of  the  dawn,  and  instinctively  betook  him 
to  a  review  of  his  drawings  for  the  shrine,  as  a  refuge  from 
troubled  thought.  He  took  his  sketch  of  the  Madonna 
and  Child  into  the  morning  twilight  and  began  meditating 
thereon,  while  the  clouds  that  lined  the  horizon  were  glow 
ing  rosy  purple  and  violet  with  the  approaching  day. 

"  See  there  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  yonder  clouds  have 
exactly  the  rosy  purple  of  the  cyclamen  which  my  little 
Agnes  loves  so  much  ; — yes,  I  am  resolved  that  this  cloud 
on  which  our  Mother  standeth  shall  be  of  a  cyclamen  color. 
And  there  is  that  star,  like  as  it  looked  yesterday  evening, 
when  I  mused  upon  it.  Methought  I  could  see  our  Lady's 
clear  brow,  and  .the  radiance  of  her  face,  and  I  prayed  that 
some  little  power  might  be  given  to  show  forth  that  which 
transports  me." 

And  as  the  monk  plied  his  pencil,  touching  here  and 
10 


218  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

there,    and    elaborating    the    outlines   of   his   drawing,   he 
sung,  — 

"Ave,  Maris  Stella, 
Dei  mater  alma, 
Atque  semper  virgo, 
Felix  coeli  porta! 

"  Virgo  singularis, 
Inter  omnes  mitis, 
Nos  culpis  solutos 
Mites  fac  et  castos! 

"  Vitam  prassta  puram, 
Iter  para  tutam, 
Ut  videntes  Jesum 
Semper  collastemur! "  * 

As  the  monk  sung,  Agnes  soon  appeared  at  the  door. 
"  Ah,  my  little  bird,  you  are  there  ! "  he  said  looking  up. 
"  Yes,"  said  Agnes,  coming  forward,  and  looking  over  his 
shoulder  at  his  work. 

"  Did  you  find  that  young  sculptor  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  I  did,  —  a  brave  boy,  too,  who  will  row  down  the 

*  Hail,  thou  Star  of  Ocean, 
Thou  forever  virgin, 
Mother  of  the  Lord ! 
Blessed  gate  of  Heaven, 
Take  our  heart's  devotion! 

Virgin  one  and  only, 
Meekest  'mid  them  all, 
From  our  sins  set  free, 
Make  us  pure  like  thee, 
Freed  from  passion's  thrall! 

Grant  that  in  pure  living, 
Through  safe  paths  below, 
Forever  seeing  Jesus, 
Rejoicing  we  may  go! 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  219 

coast  and  dig  us  marble  from  an  old  heathen  temple,  which 
we  will  baptize  into  the  name  of  Christ  and  his  Mother." 

"  Pietro  was  always  a  good  boy,"  said  Agnes. 

"Stay,"  said  the  monk,  stepping  into  his  little  sleeping- 
room  ;  "  he  sent  you  this  lily ;  see,  I  have  kept  it  in  water 
all  night." 

"  Poor  Pietro,  that  was  good  of  him  ! "  said  Agnes.  "  I 
would  thank  him,  if  I  could.  But,  uncle,"  she  added,  in 
a  hesitating  voice,  "  did  you  see  anything  of  that  —  other 
one?" 

"  That  I  did,  child,  —  and  talked  long  with  him." 

"  Ah,  uncle,  is  there  any  hope  for  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is  hope,  —  great  hope.  In  fact,  he  has  prom 
ised  to  receive  me  again,  and  I  have  hopes  of  leading  him 
to  the  sacrament  of  confession,  and  after  that  " 

"  And  then  the  Pope  will  forgive  him  ! "  said  Agnes,  joy 
fully. 

The  face  of  the  monk  suddenly  fell ;  he  was  silent,  and 
went  on  retouching  his  drawing. 

"  Do  you  not  think  he  will  ? "  said  Agnes,  earnestly. 
"  You  said  the  Church  was  ever  ready  to  receive  the  re 
pentant." 

"The  True  Church  will  receive  him,"  said  the  monk, 
evasively ;  "  yes,  my  little  one,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  And  it  is  not  true  that  he  is  captain  of  a  band  of  rob 
bers  in  the  mountains  ?  "  said  Agnes.  "  May  I  tell  Father 
Francesco  that  it  is  not  so  ? " 

"  Child,  this  young  man  hath  suffered  a  grievous  wrong 

and  injustice  ;  for  he  is  lord  of  an  ancient  and  noble  estate, 

out  of  which  he  hath  been  driven  by  the  cruel  injustice  of  a 

most  wicked  and  abominable  man,  the  Duke  di  Valentines,* 

*  Caesar  Borgia  was  created  Due  de  Valeutinois  by  Louis  XII.  of  France. 


220  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

who  hath  caused  the  death  of  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
ravaged  the  country  around  with  fire  and  sword,  so  that  he 
hath  been  driven  with  his  retainers  to  a  fortress  in  the 
mountains." 

"  But,"  said  Agnes,  with  flushed  cheeks,  "  why  does  not 
our  blessed  Father  excommunicate  this  wicked  duke  ?  Sure 
ly  this  knight  hath  erred ;  instead  of  taking  refuge  in  the 
mountains,  he  ought  to  have  fled  with  his  followers  to  Rome, 
where  the  dear  Father  of  the  Church  hath  a  house  for  all 
the  oppressed.  It  must  be  so  lovely  to  be  the  father  of  all 
men,  and  to  take  in  and  comfort  all  those  who  are  distressed 
and  sorrowful,  and  to  right  the  wrongs  of  all  that  are  op 
pressed,  as  our  dear  Father  at  Rome  doth ! " 

The  monk  looked  up  at  Agnes's  clear  glowing  face  with  a 
sort  of  wondering  pity. 

"  Dear  little  child,"  he  said,  "  there  is  a  Jerusalem  above 
which  is  mother  of  us  all,  and  these  things  are  done  there. 

*  Ccelestis  urbs  Jerusalem, 
Beata  pacis  visio, 
Quse  celsa  de  viventibus 
Saxis  ad  astra  tolleris, 
Sponsseque  ritu  cingeris 
Mille  angelorum  millibus! '" 

The  face  of  the  monk  glowed  as  he  repeated  this  ancient 
hymn  of  the  Church,*  as  if  the  remembrance  of  that  gen 
eral  assembly  and  church  of  the  first-born  gave  him  comfort 
in  his  depression. 

*  This  very  ancient  hymn  is  the  fountain-head  from  which  through 
various  languages  have  trickled  the  various  hymns  of  the  Celestial  City, 
such  as  — 

"Jerusalem,  my  happy  home!  " 
and  Quarles's  — 

"  0  mother  dear,  Jerusalem  !  " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  221 

Agnes  felt  perplexed,  and  looked  earnestly  at  her  uncle 
as  he  stooped  over  his  drawing,  and  saw  that  there  were 
deep  lines  of  anxiety  on  his  usually  clear,  placid  face,  —  a 
look  as  of  one  who  struggles  mentally  with  some  untold 
trouble. 

"  Uncle,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "  may  I  tell  Father  Fran 
cesco  what  you  have  been  telling  me  of  this  young  man  ?  " 

"  No,  my  little  one,  —  it  were  not  best.  In  fact,  dear 
child,  there  be  many  things  in  his  case  impossible  to  explain, 
even  to  you ;  —  but  he  is  not  so  altogether  hopeless  as  you 
thought ;  in  truth,  I  have  great  hopes  of  him.  I  have  ad 
monished  him  to  come  here  no  more,  but  I  shall  see  him 
again  this  evening." 

Agnes  wondered  at  the  heaviness  of  her  own  little  heart, 
as  her  kind  old  uncle  spoke  of  his  coming  there  no  more. 
Awhile  ago  she  dreaded  his  visits  as  a  most  fearful  tempta 
tion,  and  thought  perhaps  he  might  come  at  any  hour ;  now 
she  was  sure  he  would  not,  and  it  was  astonishing  what  a 
weight  fell  upon  her. 

"Why  am  I  not  thankful?"  she  asked  herself.  "Why 
am  I  not  joyful  ?  Why  should  I  wish  to  see  him  again, 
when  I  should  only  be  tempted  to  sinful  thoughts,  and  when 
my  dear  uncle,  who  can  do  so  much  for  him,  has  his  soul  in 
charge  ?  And  what  is  this  which  is  so  strange  in  his  case  ? 
There  is  some  mystery,  after  all,  —  something,  perhaps, 
which  I  ought  not  to  wish  to  know.  Ah,  how  little  can  we 
know  of  this  great  wicked  world,  and  of  -lie  reasons  which 
our  superiors  give  for  their  conduct !  It  is  ours  humbly  to 
obey,  without  a  question  or  a  doubt.  Holy  Mother,  may  I 
not  sin  through  a  vain  curiosity  or  self-will !  May  I  ever 
say,  as  thou  didst,  '  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord !  be  it 
unto  me  according  to  His  word!'" 


222  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

And  Agnes  went  about  her  morning  devotions  with  fer 
vent  zeal,  and  did  not  see  the  monk  as  he  dropped  the  pencil, 
and,  covering  his  face  with  his  robe,  seemed  to  wrestle  in 
some  agony  of  prayer. 

"  Shepherd  of  Israel/'  he  said,  "  why  hast  Thou  forgotten 
this  vine  of  Thy  planting  ?  The  boar  out  of  the  wood  doth 
waste  it,  the  wild  beast  of  the  field  doth  devour  it.  Dogs 
have  encompassed  Thy  beloved  ;  the  assembly  of  the  violent 
have  surrounded  him.  How  long,  O  Lord,  holy  and  true, 
dost  Thou  not  judge  and  avenge  ?  " 

"  Now,  really,  brother,"  said  Elsie,  coming  towards  him, 
and  interrupting  his  meditations  in  her  bustling,  business 
way,  yet  speaking  in  a  low  tone  that  Agnes  should  not  hear, 
—  "I  want  you  to  help  me  with  this  child  in  a  good  common- 
sense  fashion :  none  of  your  high-flying  notions  about  saints 
and  angels,  but  a  little  good  common  talk  for  every-day  peo 
ple  that  have  their  bread  and  salt  to  look  after.  The  fact  is, 
brother,  this  girl  must  be  married.  I  went  last  night  to  talk 
with  Antonio's  mother,  and  the  way  is  all  open  as  well  as 
any  living  girl  could  desire.  Antonio  is  a  trifle  slow,  and 
the  high-flying  hussies  call  him  stupid ;  but  bis  mother  says 
a  better  son  never  breathed,  and  he  is  as  obedient  to  all  her 
orders  now  as  when  he  was  three  years  old.  And  she  has 
laid  up  plenty  of  household  stuff  for  him,  and  good  hard 
gold  pieces  to  boot :  she  let  me  count  them  myself,  and  I 
showed  her  that  which  I  had  scraped  together,  and  she 
counted  it,  and  we  agreed  that  the  children  that  come  of 
such  a  marriage  would  come  into  the  world  with  something 
to  stand  on.  Now  Agnes  is  fond  of  you,  brother,  and  per 
haps  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  broach  the  subject.  The 
fact  is,  when  I  begin  to  talk,  she  gets  her  arms  round  my 
old  neck  and  falls  to  weeping  and  kissing  me  at  such  a  rate 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  223 

as  makes  a  fool  of  me.  If  the  child  would  onty  be  rebel 
lious,  one  could  do  something  ;  but  this  love  takes  all  the 
stiffness  out  of  one's  joints ;  and  she  tells  me  she  never 
wants  a  husband,  and  she  will  be  content  to  live  with  me  all 
her  life.  The  saints  know  it  is  n't  for  my  happiness  to  put 
her  out  of  my  old  arms ;  but  I  can't  last  forever,  —  my  old 
back  grows  weaker  every  year ;  and  Antonio  has  strong 
arms  to  defend  her  from  all  these  roystering  fellows  who  fear 
neither  God  nor  man,  and  swoop  up  young  maids  as  kites  do 
chickens.  And  then  he  is  as  gentle  and  manageable  as  a 
this-year  ox ;  Agnes  can  lead  him  by  the  horn,  —  she  will 
be  a  perfect  queen  over  him  ;  for  he  has  been  brought  up  to 
mind  the  women." 

"  Well,  sister,"  said  the  monk,  "  hath  our  little  maid  any 
acquaintance  with  this  man  ?  Have  they  ever  spoken  to 
gether  ?  " 

"  Not  much.  I  have  never  brought  them  to  a  very  close 
acquaintance  ;  and  that  is  what  is  to  be  done.  Antonio  is 
not  much  of  a  talker ;  to  tell  the  truth,  he  does  not  know  as 
much  to  say  as  our  Agnes :  but  the  man's  place  is  not  to  say 
fine  things,  but  to  do  the  hard  work  that  shall  support  the 
household." 

"  Then  Agnes  hath  not  even  seen  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  at  different  times  I  have  bid  her  regard  him,  and 
said  to  her,  *  There  goes  a  proper  man  and  a  good  Christian, 
—  a  man  who  minds  his  work  and  is  obedient  to  his  old 
mother :  such  a  man  will  make  a  right  good  husband  for 
some  girl  some  day.'" 

"And  did  you  ever  see  that  her  eye  followed  him  with 
pleasure  ?  " 

"  No,  neither  him  nor  any  other  man,  for  my  little  Agnes 
hath  no  thought  of  that  kind ;  but,  once  married,  she  will 


224  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

> 

like  him  fast  enough.  All  I  want  is  to  have  you  begin  the 
subject,  and  get  it  into  her  head  a  little." 

Father  Antonio  was  puzzled  how  to  meet  this  direct 
urgency  of  his  sister.  He  could  not  explain  to  her  his  own 
private  reasons  for  believing  that  any  such  attempt  would  be 
utterly  vain,  and  only  bring  needless  distress  on  his  little 
favorite.  He  therefore  answered,  — 

"  My  good  sister,  all  such  thoughts  lie  so  far  out  of  the 
sphere  of  us  monks,  that  you  could  not  choose  a  worse  per 
son  for  such  an  errand.  I  have  never  had  any  communings 
with  the  child  than  touching  the  beautiful  things  of  my  art, 
and  concerning  hymns  and  prayers  and  the  lovely  world  of 
saints  and  angels,  where  they  neither  marry  nor  are  given 
in  marriage  ;  and  so  I  should  only  spoil  your  enterprise,  if  I 
should  put  my  unskilful  hand  to  it." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Elsie,  "  don't  you  approve  of  my 
plan  ?  » 

"  I  should  approve  of  anything  that  would  make  our  dear 
little  one  safe  and  happy,  but  I  would  not  force  the  matter 
against  her  inclinations.  You  will  always  regret  it,  if  you 
make  so  good  a  child  shed  one  needless  tear.  After  all, 
sister,  what  need  of  haste  ?  'T  is  a  young  bird  yet.  Why 
push  it  out  of  the  nest  ?  When  once  it  is  gone,  you  will 
never  get  it  back.  Let  the  pretty  one  have  her  little  day  to 
play  and  sing  and  be  happy.  Does  she  not  make  this  gar 
den  a  sort  of  Paradise  with  her  little  ways  and  her  sweet 
words  ?  Now,  my  sister,  these  all  belong  to  you  ;  but,  once 
she  is  given  to  another,  there  is  no  saying  what  may  come. 
One  thing  only  may  you  count  on  with  certainty  :  that  these 
dear  days,  when  she  is  all  day  by  your  side  and  sleeps  in 
your  bosom  all  night,  are  over,  —  she  will  belong  to  you  no 
more,  but  to  a  strange  man  who  hath  neither  toiled  nor 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  225 

wrought  for  her,  and  all  her  pretty  ways  and  dutiful  thoughts 
must  be  for  him." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  said  Elsie,  with  a  sudden  wrench 
of  that  jealous  love  which  is  ever  natural  to  strong,  passion 
ate  natures.  "I'm  sure  it  isn't  for  my  own  sake  I  urge 
this.  I  grudge  him  the  girl.  After  all,  he  is  but  a  stupid 
head.  What  has  he  ever  done,  that  such  good-fortune  should 
befall  him  ?  He  ought  to  fall  down  and  kiss  the  dust  of  my 
shoes  for  such  a  gift,  and  I  doubt  me  much  if  he  will  ever 
think  to  do  it.  These  men  think  nothing  too  good  for  them. 
I  believe,  if  one  of  the  crowned  saints  in  heaven  were  offered 
them  to  wife,  they  would  think  it  all  quite  natural,  and  not  a 
whit  less  than  their  requirings." 

"  Well,  then,  sister,"  said  the  monk,  soothingly,  "  why 
press  this  matter?  why  hurry?  The  poor  little  child  is 
young  ;  let  her  frisk  like  a  lamb,  and  dance  like  a  butterfly, 
and  sing  her  hymns  every  day  like  a  bright  bird.  Surely 
the  Apostle  saith,  '  He  that  giveth  his  maid  in  marriage 
doeth  well,  but  he  that  giveth  her  not  doeth  better.' " 

"  But  I  have  opened  the  subject  already  to  old.  Meta," 
said  Elsie  ;  "  and  if  I  don't  pursue  it,  she  will  take  it  into 
her  head  that  her  son  is  lightly  regarded,  and  then  her  back 
will  be  up,  and  one  may  lose  the  chance ;  and  on  the  whole, 
considering  the  money  and  the  fellow,  I  don't  know  a  safer 
way  to  settle  the  girl." 

"  Well,  sister,  as  I  have  remarked,"  said  the  monk,  "  I 
could  not  order  my  speech  to  propose  anything  of  this  kind 
to  a  young  maid  ;  I  should  so  bungle  that  I  might  spoil  all. 
You  must  even  propose  it  yourself." 

"  I  would  not  have  undertaken  it,"  said  Elsie,  "  had  I  not 
been  frightened  by  that  hook-nosed  old  kite  of  a  cavalier 
that  has  been  sailing  and  perching  round.  We  are  two  lone 
10* 


226  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

women  here,  and  the  times  are  unsettled,  and  one  never 
knows,  that  hath  so  fair  a  prize,  but  she  may  be  carried  off, 
and  then  no  redress  from  any  quarter." 

"  You  might  lodge  her  in  the  convent,"  said  the  monk. 

"  Yes,  and  then,  the  first  thing  I  should  know,  they  would 
have  got  her  away  from  me  entirely.  I  have  been  well 
pleased  to  have  her  much  with  the  sisters  hitherto,  because 
it  kept  her  from  hearing  the  foolish  talk  of  girls  and  gal 
lants,  —  and  such  a  flower  would  have  had  every  wasp  and 
bee  buzzing  round  it.  But  now  the  time  is  coming  to  marry 
her,  I  much  doubt  these  nuns.  There  's  old  Jocunda  is  a 
sensible  woman,  who  knew  something  of  the  world  before 
she  went  there,  —  but  the  Mother  Theresa  knows  no  more 
than  a  baby ;  and  they  would  take  her  in,  and  make  her  as 
white  and  as  thin  as  that  moon  yonder  now  the  sun  has 
risen ;  and  little  good  should  I  have  of  her,  for  I  have  no 
vocation  for  the  convent,  —  it  would  kill  me  in  a  week.  No, 
—  she  has  seen  enough  of  the  convent  for  the  present.  I 
will  even  take  the  risk  of  watching  her  myself.  Little  has 
this  gallant  seen  of  her,  though  he  has  tried  hard  enough ! 
But  to-c'.ay  I  may  venture  to  take  her  down  with  me." 

Father  Antonio  felt  a  little  conscience-smitten  in  listening 
to  these  triumphant  assertions  of  old  Elsie  ;  for  he  knew 
that  she  would  pour  all  her  vials  of  wrath  on  his  head,  did 
she  know,  that,  owing  to  his  absence  from  his  little  charge, 
the  dreaded  invader  had  managed  to  have  two  interviews 
with  her  grandchild,  on  the  very  spot  that  Elsie  deemed  the 
fortress  of  security  ;  but  he  wisely  kept  his  own  counsel, 
believing  in  the  eternal  value  of  silence.  In  truth,  the 
gentle  monk  lived  so  much  in  the  unreal  and  celestial 
world  of  Beauty,  that  he  was  by  no  means  a  skilful  guide 
for  the  passes  of  common  life.  Love,  other  than  that  ethe- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  227 

real  kind  which  aspires  towards  Paradise,  was  a  stranger 
to  his  thoughts,  and  he  constantly  erred  in  attributing  to 
other  people  natures  and  purposes  as  unworldly  and  spirit- 
yal  as  his  own.  Thus  had  he  fallen,  in  his  utter  simplicity, 
into  the  attitude  of  a  go-between  protecting  the  advances  of 
a  young  lover  with  the  shadow  of  his  monk's  gown,  and  he 
became  awkwardly  conscious,  that,  if  Elsie  should  find  out 
the  whole  truth,  there  would  be  no  possibility  of  convincing 
her  that  what  had  been  done  in  such  sacred  simplicity  on  all 
sides  was  not  the  basest  manoeuvring. 

Elsie  took  Agnes  down  with  her  to  the  old  stand  in  the 
gateway  of  the  town.  On  their  way,  as  had  probably  been 
arranged,  Antonio  met  them.  We  may  have  introduced 
him  to  the  reader  before,  who  likely  enough  has  forgotten 
by  this  time  our  portraiture  ;  so  we  shall  say  again,  that  the 
man  was  past  thirty,  tall,  straight,  well-made,  even  to  the 
tapering  of  his  well-formed  limbs,  as  are  the  generality  of 
the  peasanty  of  that  favored  region.  His  teeth  were  white 
as  sea-pearl ;  his  cheek,  though  swarthy,  had  a  deep,  healthy 
flush  ;  and  his  great  velvet  black  eyes  looked  straight  out 
from  under  their  long  silky  lashes,  just  as  do  the  eyes  of 
the  beautiful  oxen  of  his  country,  with  a  languid,  change 
less  tranquillity,  betokening  a  good  digestion,  and  a  well-fed, 
kindly  animal  nature.  He  was  evidently  a  creature  that 
had  been  nourished  on  sweet  juices  and  developed  in  fair 
pastures,  under  genial  influences  of  sun  and  weather,  —  one 
that  would  draw  patiently  in  harness,  if  required,  without 
troubling  his  handsome  head  how  he  came  there,  and, 
his  labor  being  done,  would  stretch  his  healthy  body  to 
rumination,  and  rest  with  serene,  even  unreflecting  qui 
etude. 

He  had  been  duly  lectured   by  his  mother,  this  morn- 


228  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

ing,  on  the  propriety  of  commencing  his  wooing,  and  was 
coming  towards  them  with  a  bouquet  in  his  hand. 

"  See  there,"  said  Elsie,  —  "  there  is  our  young  neighbor 
Antonio  coming  towards  us.  There  is  a  youth  whom  I  am, 
willing  you  should  speak  to,  —  none  of  your  ruffian  gal 
lants,  but  steady  as  an  ox  at  his  work,  and  as  kind  at  the 
crib.  Happy  will  the  girl  be  that  gets  him  for  a  hus 
band  ! " 

Agnes  was  somewhat  troubled  and  saddened  this  morn 
ing,  and  absorbed  in  cares  quite  new  to  her  life  before  ;  but 
her  nature  was  ever  kindly  and  social,  and  it  had  been  laid 
under  so  many  restrictions  by  her  grandmother's  close  method 
of  bringing  up,  that  it  was  always  ready  to  rebound  in  favor 
of  anybody  to  whom  she  allowed  her  to  show  kindness. 
So,  when  the  young  man  stopped  and  shyly  reached  forth 
to  her  a  knot  of  scarlet  poppies  interminged  with  bright 
vetches  and  wild  blue  larkspurs,  she  took  it  graciously,  and, 
frankly  beaming  a  smile  into  his  face,  said,  — 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  Antonio  !  "  Then  fastening  them 
in  the  front  of  her  bodice,  —  "  There,  they  are  beautiful !  " 
she  said,  looking  up  with  the  simple  satisfaction  of  a  child. 

"They  are  not  half  so  beautiful  as  you  are,"  said  the 
young  peasant ;  "  everybody  likes  you." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I  am  sure,"  said  Agnes.  "  I  like 
everybody,  as  far  as  grandmamma  thinks  it  best." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Antonio,  "  because  then  I  hope 
you  will  like  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly,  I  do  ;  grandmamma  says  you  are  very 
good,  and  I  like  all  good  people." 

"  Well,  then,  pretty  Agnes,"  said  the  young  man,  "  let  me 
carry  your  basket." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  need  to ;  it  does  not  tire  me." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  229 

"  But  I  should  like  to  do  something  for  you,"  insisted  the 
y<?ung  man,  blushing  deeply. 

"  Well,  you  may,  then,"  said  Agnes,  who  began  to  wonder 
at  the  length  of  time  her  grandmother  allowed  this  conversa 
tion  to  go  on  without  interrupting  it,  as  she  generally  had 
done  when  a  young  man  was  in  the  case.  Quite  to  her 
astonishment,  her  venerable  relative,  instead  of  sticking  as 
close  to  her  as  her  shadow,  was  walking  forward  very  fast 
without  looking  behind. 

"Now,  Holy  Mother,"  said  that  excellent  matron,  "do 
help  this  young  man  to  bring  this  affair  out  straight,  and 
give  an  old  woman,  who  has  had  a  world  of  troubles,  a 
little  peace  in  her  old  age  ! " 

Agnes  found  herself,  therefore,  quite  unusually  situated, 
alone  in  the  company  of  a  handsome  young  man,  and  ap 
parently  with  the  consent  of  her  grandmother.  Some  girls 
might  have  felt  emotions  of  embarrassment,  or  even  alarm, 
at  this  new  situation  ;  but  the  sacred  loneliness  and  seclu 
sion  in  which  Agnes  had  been  educated  had  given  her  a 
confiding  fearlessness,  such  as  voyagers  have  found  in  the 
birds  of  bright  foreign  islands  which  have  never  been  in 
vaded  by  man.  She  looked  up  at  Antonio  with  a  pleased, 
admiring  smile,  —  much  such  as  she  would  have  given,  if  a 
great  handsome  stag,  or  other  sylvan  companion,  had  stepped 
from  the  forest  and  looked  a  friendship  at  her  through  his 
large  liquid  eyes.  She  seemed,  in  an  innocent,  frank  way, 
to  like  to  have  him  walking  by  her,  and  thought  him  very 
good  to  carry  her  basket,  —  though,  as  she  told  him,  he  need 
not  do  it,  it  did  not  tire  her  in  the  least. 

"  Nor  does  it  tire  me,  pretty  Agnes,"  said  he,  with  an  em 
barrassed  laugh.  "  See  what  a  great  fellow  I  am,  —  how 
strong !  Look,  —  I  can  bend  an  iron  bar  in  my  hands !  I 


230  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

am  as  strong  as  an  ox,  —  and  I  should  like  always  to  use  my 
strength  for  you." 

u  Should  you  ?  How  very  kind  of  you  !  It  is  very 
Christian  to  use  one's  strength  for  others,  like  the  good 
Saint  Christopher." 

"  But  I  would  use  my  strength  for  you  because  —  I  love 
you,  gentle  Agnes  ! " 

"  That  is  right,  too,"  replied  Agnes.  "  We  must  all  love 
one  another,  my  good  Antonio." 

"  You  must  know  what  I  mean,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I 
mean  that  I  want  to  marry  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,  Antonio,"  replied  Agnes,  gravely  ; 
"  because  I  do  not  want  to  marry  you.  I  am  never  going 
to  marry  anybody." 

"  Ah,  girls  always  talk  so,  my  mother  told  me ;  but  no 
body  ever  heard  of  a  girl  that  did  not  want  a  husband; 
that  is  impossible,"  said  Antonio,  with  simplicity. 

"  I  believe  girls  generally  do,  Antonio ;  but  I  do  not :  my 
desire  is  to  go  to  the  convent." 

"To  the  convent,  pretty  Agnes?  Of  all  things,  what 
should  you  want  to  go  to  the  convent  for?  You  never 
had  any  trouble.  You  are  young,  and  handsome,  and 
healthy,  and  almost  any  of  the  fellows  would  think  him 
self  fortunate  to  get  you." 

"  I  would  go  there  to  live  for  God  and  pray  for  souls," 
said  Agnes. 

"  But  your  grandmother  will  never  let  you ;  she  means 
you  shall  marry  me.  I  heard  her  and  my  mother  talking 
a.bout  it  last  night ;  and  my  mother  bade  me  come  on,  for 
she  said  it  was  all  settled." 

"  I  never  heard  anything  of  it,"  said  Agnes,  now  for  the 
first  time  feeling  troubled.  "  But,  my  good  Antonio,  if  you 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  231 

really  do  like  me  and  wish  me  well,  you  will  not  want  to 
distress  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Well,  it  will  distress  me  very,  very  much,  if  you  persist 
in  wanting  to  marry  me,  and  if  you  say  any  more  on  the 
subject." 

"  Is  that  really  so  ?  "  said  Antonio,  fixing  his  great  velvet 
eyes  with  an  honest  stare  on  Agnes. 

"  Yes,  it  is  so,  Antonio  ;  you  may  rely  upon  it." 

"  But  look  here,  Agnes,  are  you  quite  sure  ?  Mother 
says  girls  do  not  always  know  their  mind." 

"  But  I  know  mine,  Antonio.  Now  you  really  will  dis 
tress  and  trouble  me  very  much,  if  you  say  anything  more 
of  this  sort." 

"  I  declare,  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  Look  ye,  Agnes,  —  I  did  not  care  half  as  much  about  it 
this  morning  as  I  do  now.  Mother  has  been  saying  this 
great  while  that  I  must  have  a  wife,  that  she  was  getting 
old ;  and  this  morning  she  told  me  to  speak  to  you.  I 
thought  you  would  be  all  ready,  —  indeed  I  did." 

"  My  good  Antonio,  there  are  a  great  many  very  hand 
some  girls  who  would  be  glad,  I  suppose,  to  marry  you.  I 
believe  other  girls  do  not  feel  as  I  do.  Giulietta  used  to 
laugh  and  tell  me  so." 

"  That  Giulietta  was  a  splendid  girl,"  said  Antonio.  "  She 
used  to  make  great  eyes  at  me,  and  try  to  make  me  play 
the  fool ;  but  my  mother  would  not  hear  of  her.  Now  she 
has  gone  off  with  a  fellow  to  the  mountains." 

"  Giulietta  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  have  n't  you  heard  of  it  ?  She  's  gone  with  one 
of  the  fellows  of  that  dashing  young  robber-captain  that  has 
been  round  our  town  so  much  lately.  All  the  girls  are  wild 


232  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO, 

after  these  mountain  fellows.  A  good,  honest  boy  like  me, 
that  hammers  away  at  his  trade,  they  think  nothing  of; 
whereas  one  of  these  fellows  with  a  feather  in  his  cap  has 
only  to  twinkle  his  finger  at  them,  and  they  are  off  like  a 
bird." 

The  blood  rose  in  Agnes's  cheeks  at  this  very  unconscious 
remark ;  but  she  walked  along  for  some  time  with  a  coun 
tenance  of  grave  reflection. 

They  had  now  gained  the  street  of  the  city,  where  old 
Elsie  stood  at  a  little  distance  waiting  for  them. 

"  Well,  Agnes,"  said  Antonio,  "  so  you  reall;  are  in 
earnest  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  am." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  be  good  friends,  at  any  rate,"  said  the 
young  man. 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,  I  will,"  said  Agnes,  smiling  with  all  the 
brightness  her  lovely  face  was  capable  of.  "  You  are  a  kind, 
good  man,  and  I  like  you  very  much.  I  wi11  always  remem 
ber  you  kindly." 

"  Well,  good-bye,  then,"  said  Antonio,  offering  his  hand. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Agnes,  cheerfully  giving  hers. 

Elsie,  beholding  the  cordiality  of  this  parting,  comforted 
herself  that  all  was  right,  and  ruffled  all  her  feathers  with  the 
satisfied  pride  of  a  matron  whose  family  plans  are  succeeding. 

"After  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  "brother  was  right, — 
best  let  young  folks  settle  these  matters  themselves.  Now 
see  the  advantage  of  such  an  education  as  I  have  given 
Agnes !  Instead  of  being  betrothed  to  a  good,  honest, 
forehanded  fellow,  she  might  have  been  losing  her  poor, 
silly  heart  to  some  of  these  lords  or  gallants  who  throw 
away  a  girl  as  one  does  an  orange  when  they  have  sucked 
it.  Who  knows  what  mischief  this  cavalier  might  have 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  233 

done,  if  I  had  not  been  so  watchful?  Now  let  him  come 
prying  and  spying  about,  she  will  have  a  husband  to  defend 
her.  A  smith's  hammer  is  better  than  an  old  woman's  spin 
dle,  any  day." 

Agnes  took  her  seat  with  her  usual  air  of  thoughtful  grav 
ity,  her  mind  seeming  to  be  intensely  preoccupied,  and  her 
grandmother,  though  secretly  exulting  in  the  supposed  cause, 
resolved  not  to  open  the  subject  with  her  till  they  were  at 
home  or  alone  at  night. 

"  I  have  my  defence  to  make  to  Father  Francesco,  too," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  for  hurrying  on  this  betrothal  against 
his  advice  ;  but  one  must  manage  a  little  with  these  priests, 
—  the  saints  forgive  me  !  I  really  think  sometimes,  because 
they  can't  marry  themselves,  they  would  rather  see  every 
pretty  girl  in  a  convent  than  with  a  husband.  It 's  natural 
enough,  too.  Father  Francesco  will  be  like  the  rest  of  the 
world :  when  he  can't  help  a  thing,  he  will  see  the  will  of 
the  Lord  in  it." 

Thus  prosperously  the  world  seemed  to  go  with  old  Elsie. 
Meantime,  when  her  back  was  turned,  as  she  was  kneeling 
over  her  basket,  sorting  out  lemons,  Agnes  happened  to  look 
up,  and  there,  just  under  the  arch  of  the  gateway,  where  she 
had  seen  him  the  first  time,  sat  the  cavalier  on  a  splendid 
horse,  with  a  white  feather  streaming  backward  from  his 
black  riding-hat  and  dark  curls. 

He  bowed  low  and  kissed  his  hand  to  her,  and  before  she 
knew  it  her  eyes  met  his,  which  seemed  to  flash  light  and 
sunshine  all  through  her ;  and  then  he  turned  his  horse  and 
was  gone  through  the  gate,  while  she,  filled  with  self-reproach, 
was  taking  her  little  heart  to  task  for  the  instantaneous  throb 
of  happiness  which  had  passed  through  her  whole  being  at 
that  sight.  She  had  not  turned  away  her  head,  nor  said  a 


234  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

prayer,  as  P'ather  Francesco  told  her  to  do,  because  the 
whole  thing  had  been  sudden  as  a  flash  ;  but  now  it  was 
gone,  she  prayed,  "  My  God,  help  me  not  to  love  him  !  —  let 
me  love  Thee  alone !  "  But  many  times  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  as  she  twisted  her  flax,  she  found  herself  wondering 
whither  he  could  be  going.  Had  he  really  gone  to  that 
enchanted  cloud-land,  in  the  old  purple  Apennines,  whither 
he  wanted  to  carry  her,  —  gone,  perhaps,  never  to  return  ? 
That  was  best.  But  was  he  reconciled  with  the  Church  ? 
Was  that  great,  splendid  soul  that  looked  out  of  those  eyes 
to  be  forever  lost,  or  would  the  pious  exhortations  of  her 
uncle  avail  ?  And  then  she  thought  he  had  said  to  her,  that, 
if  she  would  go  with  him,  he  would  confess  and  take  the 
sacrament,  and  be  reconciled  with  the  Church,  and  so  his 
soul  be  saved. 

She  resolved  to  tell  this  to  Father  Francesco.  Perhaps 

he  would No,  —  she  shivered  as  she  remembered  the 

severe,  withering  look  with  which  the  holy  father  had  spoken 
of  him,  and  the  awfulness  of  his  manner,  —  he  would  never 

consent.  And  then  her  grandmother No,  there  was  no 

possibility. 

Meanwhile  Agnes's  good  old  uncle  sat  in  the  orange-shaded 
garden,  busily  perfecting  his  sketches;  but  his  mind  was 
distracted,  and  his  thoughts  wandered,  —  and  often  he  rose, 
and,  leaving  his  drawings,  would  pace  up  and  down  the  little 
place,  absorbed  in  earnest  prayer.  The  thought  of  his  mas 
ter's  position  was  hourly  growing  upon  him.  The  real  world 
with  its  hungry  and  angry  tide  was  each  hour  washing  higher 
and  higher  up  on  the  airy  shore  of  the  ideal,  and  bearing  the 
pearls  and  enchanted  shells  of  fancy  out  into  its  salt  and 
muddy  waters. 

"  Oh,  my  master,  my  father ! "  he  said,  "  is  the  martyr's 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  235 

crown  of  fire  indeed  waiting  thee  ?  Will  God  desert  His 
own  ?  But  was  not  Christ  crucified  ?  —  and  the  disciple  is 
not  above  his  master,  nor  the  servant  above  his  lord.  But 
surely  Florence  will  not  consent.  The  whole  city  will  make 
a  stand  for  him ;  —  they  are  ready,  if  need  be,  to  pluck  out 
their  eyes  and  give  them  to  him.  Florence  will  certainly 
be  a  refuge  for  him.  But  why  do  I  put  confidence  in  mail  ? 
In  the  Lord  alone  have  I  righteousness  and  strength." 

And  the  old  monk  raised  the  psalm,  "  Quare  fremunt 
gentes"  and  his  voice  rose  and  fell  through  the  flowery 
recesses  and  dripping  grottoes  of  the  old  gorge,  sad  and 
earnest  like  the  protest  of  the  few  and  feeble  of  Christ's 
own  against  the  rushing  legions  of  the  world.  Yet,  as  he 
sang,  courage  and  holy  hope  came  into  his  soul  from  the 
sacred  words,  —  just  such  courage  as  they  afterwards 
brought  to  Luther  and  to  the  Puritans  in  later  times. 


23 G  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE    MONK'S    DEPARTURE. 

THE  three  inhabitants  of  the  little  dovecot  were  sitting 
in  their  garden  after  supper,  enjoying  the  cool  freshness. 
The  place  was  perfumed  with  the  smell  of  orange-blossoms, 
brought  out  by  gentle  showers  that  had  fallen  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  afternoon,  and  all  three  felt  the  tranquil 
lizing  effects  of  the  sweet  evening  air.  The  monk  sat  bend 
ing  over  his  drawings,  resting  the  frame  on  which  they  lay 
on  the  mossy  garden-wall,  so  as  to  get  the  latest  advantage 
of  the  rich  golden  twilight  which  now  twinkled  through  the 
sky.  Agnes  sat  by  him  on  the  same  wall,  —  now  glancing 
over  his  shoulder  at  his  work,  and  now  leaning  thoughtfully 
on  her  elbow,  gazing  pensively  down  into  the  deep  shadows 
of  the  gorge,  or  out  where  the  golden  light  of  evening 
streamed  under  the  arches  of  the  old  Roman  bridge,  to 
the  wide,  bright  sea  beyond. 

Old  Elsie  bustled  about  with  unusual  content  in  the  lines 
of  her  keen  wrinkled  face.  Already  her  thoughts  were  run 
ning  on  household  furnishing  and  bridal  finery.  She  un 
locked  an  old  chest  which  from  its  heavy  quaint  carvings  of 
dark  wood  must  have  been  some  relic  of  the  fortunes  of  her 
better  days,  and,  taking  out  of  a  little  till  of  the  same  a 
string  of  fine  silvery  pearls,  held  them  up  admiringly  to  the 
evening  light.  A  splendid  pair  of  pearl  ear-rings  also  was 
produced  from  the  same  receptacle. 

She  sighed  at  first,  as  she  looked  at  these  things,  and  then 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  237 

smiled  with  rather  an  air  of  triumph,  and,  coming  to  where  Ag 
nes  reclined  on  the  wall,  held  them  up  playfully  before  her. 

"  See  here,  little  one  !  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  what  pretty  things  !  —  where  did  they  come  from  ?  " 
said  Agnes,  innocently. 

"  Where  did  they  ?  Sure  enough  !  Little  did  you  or  any 
one  else  know  old  Elsie  had  things  like  these !  But  she 
meant  her  little  Agnes  should  hold  up  her  head  with  the 
best.  No  girl  in  Sorrento  will  have  such  wedding  finery 
as  this?" 

"  Wedding  finery,  grandmamma,"  said  Agnes,  faintly,  — 
"  what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  What  does  that  mean,  sly-boots  ?  Ah,  you  know  well 
enough !  What  were  you  and  Antonio  talking  about  all  the 
time  this  morning  ?  Did  he  not  ask  you  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  grandmamma ;  but  I  told  him  I  was  not  going  to 
marry.  You  promised  me,  dear  grandmother,  right  here,  the 
other  night,  that  I  should  not  marry  till  I  was  willing ;  and 
I  told  Antonio  I  was  not  willing." 

"  The  girl  says  but  true,  sister/'  said  the  monk ;  "  you 
remember  you  gave  her  your  word  that  she  should  not  bo 
married  till  she  gave  her  consent  willingly." 

"  But,  Agnes,  my  pretty  one,  what  can  be  the  objection  ?  " 
said  old  Elsie,  coaxingly.  "Where  will  you  find  a  better- 
made  man,  or  more  honest,  or  more  kind  ?  —  and  he  is 
handsome ;  —  and  you  will  have  a  home  that  all  the  girls 
will  envy." 

"  Grandmamma,  remember,  you  promised  me,  —  you 
promised  me,"  said  Agnes,  looking  distressed,  and  speak 
ing  earnestly. 

"  Well,  well,  child  !  but  can't  I  ask  a  civil  question,  if  I 
did  ?  What  is  your  objection  to  Antonio  ?  " 


238  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Only  that  I  don't  want  to  be  married." 

"  Now  you  know,  child,"  said  Elsie,  "  I  never  will  consent 
to  your  going  to  a  convent.  You  might  as  well  put  a  knife 
through  my  old  heart  as  talk  to  me  of  that.  And  if  you 
don't  go,  you  must  marry  somebody  ;  and  who  could  be  bet 
ter  than  Antonio  ?  " 

"  Oh,  grandmamma,  am  I  not  a  good  girl  ?  What  have  I 
done,  that  you  are  so  anxious  to  get  me  away  from  you  ? " 
said  Agnes.  "  I  like  Antonio  well  enough,  but  I  like  you 
ten  thousand  times  better.  Why  cannot  we  live  together 
just  as  we  do  now  ?  I  am  strong.  I  can  work  a  great  deal 
harder  than  I  do.  You  ought  to  let  me  work  more,  so  that 
you  need  not  work  so  hard  and  tire  yourself,  —  let  me  carry 
the  heavy  basket,  and  dig  round  the  trees." 

"  Pooh !  a  pretty  story  !  "  said  Elsie.  "  We  are  two  lone 
women,  and  the  times  are  unsettled  ;  there  are  robbers  and 
loose  fellows  about,  and  we  want  a  protector." 

"  And  is  not  the  good  Lord  our  protector  ?  —  has  He  not 
always  kept  us,  grandmother  ?  "  said  Agnes. 

" Oh,  that's  well  enough  to  say,  but  folks  can't  always  get 
along  so ;  —  it 's  far  better  trusting  the  Lord  with  a  good 
strong  man  about,  —  like  Antonio,  for  instance.  I  should 
like  to  see  the  man  that  would  dare  be  uncivil  to  his  wife. 
But  go  your  ways,  —  it 's  no  use  toiling  away  one's  life  for 
children,  who,  after  all,  won't  turn  their  little  finger  for 
you." 

"  Now,  dear  grandmother,"  said  Agnes,  "  have  I  not  said 
I  would  do  everything  for  you,  and  work  hard  for  you  ? 
Ask  me  to  do  anything  else  in  the  world,  grandmamma ;  I 
will  do  anything  to  make  you  happy,  except  marry  this  man, 
—  that  I  cannot." 

"  And  that  is  the  only  thing  I  want  you  to  do.     Well,  I 


AGNES  OF   SORRENTO.  239 

suppose  I  may  as  well  lock  up  these  things ;  I  see  my  gifts 
are  not  cared  for." 

And  the  old  soul  turned  and  went  in  quite  testily,  leaving 
Agnes  with  a  grieved  heart,  sitting  still  by  her  uncle. 

"  Never  weep,  little  one,"  said  the  kind  old  monk,  when  he 
saw  the  silent  tears  falling  one  after  another;  "your  grand 
mother  loves  you,  after  all,  and  will  come  out  of  this,  if  we 
are  quiet." 

"  This  is  such  a  beautiful  world,"  said  Agnes,  "  who  would 
think  it  would  be  such  a  hard  one  to  live  in  ?  —  such  battles 
and  conflicts  as  people  have  here  ! " 

"  You  say  well,  little  heart ;  but  great  is  the  glory  to  be 
revealed ;  so  let  us  have  courage." 

"  Dear  uncle,  have  you  heard  any  ill-tidings  of  late  ?  " 
asked  Agnes.  "  I  noticed  this  morning  you  were  cast  down, 
and  to-night  you  look  so  tired  and  sad." 

"  Yes,  dear  child,  —  heavy  tidings  have  indeed  come.  My 
dear  master  at  Florence  is  hard  beset  by  wicked  men,  and 
in  great  danger,  —  in  danger,  perhaps,  of  falling  a  martyr 
to  his  holy  zeal  for  the  blessed  Jesus  and  his  Church." 

"  But  cannot  our  holy  father,  the  Pope,  protect  him  ?  You 
should  go  to  Rome  directly  and  lay  the  case  before  him." 

"  It  is  not  always  possible  to  be  protected  by  the  Pope," 
said  Father  Antonio,  evasively.  "  But  I  grieve  much,  dear 
child,  that  I  can  be  with  you  no  longer.  I  must  gird  up  my 
loins  and  set  out  for  Florence,  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  how 
the  battle  is  going  for  my  holy  master." 

"  Ah,  must  I  lose  you,  too,  my  dear,  best  friend  ?  "  said 
Agnes.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"Thou  hast  the  same  Lord  Jesus,  and  the  same  dear 
Mother,  when  I  am  gone.  Have  faith  in  God,  and  cease  not 
to  pray  for  His  Church,  — •  and  for  me,  too." 


240  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  That  I  will,  dear  uncle  !  I  will  pray  for  you  more  than 
ever,  —  for  prayer  now  will  be  all  my  comfort.  But,"  she 
added,  with  hesitation,  "oh,  uncle,  you  promised  to  visit 
him  !  " 

"  Never  fear,  little  Agnes,  —  I  will  do  that.  I  go  to  him 
this  very  night,  —  now  even,  —  for  the  daylight  waxes  too 
scant  for  me  to  work  longer." 

"  But  you  will  come  back  and  stay  with  us  to-night,  un 
cle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will,  —  but  to-morrow  morning  I  must  be  up  and 
away  with  the  birds  ;  and  I  have  labored  hard  all  day  to 
finish  the  drawings  for  the  lad  who  shall  carve  the  shrine, 
that  he  may  busy  himself  thereon  in  my  absence." 

"  Then  you  will  come  back  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  dear  heart,  I  will  come  back ;  of  that  be  as 
sured.  Pray  God  it  be  before  long,  too." 

So  saying,  the  good  monk  drew  his  cowl  over  his  head, 
and,  putting  his  portfolio  of  drawings  under  his  arm,  began 
to  wend  his  way  towards  the  old  town. 

Agnes  watched  him  departing,  her  heart  in  a  strange  flut 
ter  of  eagerness  and  solicitude.  What  were  these  dreadful 
troubles  which  were  coming  upon  her  good  uncle  ?  —  who 
those  enemies  of  the  Church  that  beset  that  saintly  teacher 
he  so  much  looked  up  to  ?  And  why  was  lawless  violence 
allowed  to  run  such  riot  in  Italy,  as  it  had  in  the  case  of  the 
unfortunate  cavalier  ?  As  she  thought  things  over,  she  was 
burning  with  a  repressed  desire  to  do  something  herself  to 
abate  these  troubles. 

"  I  am  not  a  knight,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  I  cannot 
fight  for  the  good  cause.  I  am  not  a  priest,  and  I  cannot 
argue  for  it.  I  cannot  preach  and  convert  sinners.  What, 
then,  can  I  do  ?  I  can  pray.  Suppose  I  should  make  a  pil- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  241 

grimage  ?  Yes,  —  that  would  be  a  good  work,  and  I  will. 
I  will  walk  to  Rome,  praying  at  every  shrine  and  holy  place  ; 
and  then,  when  I  come  to  the  Holy  City,  whose  very  dust  is 
made  precious  with  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  and  saints,  I 
will  seek  the  house  of  our  dear  father,  the  Pope,  and  entreat 
his  forgiveness  for  this  poor  soul.  He  will  not  scorn  me,  for 
he  is  in  the  place  of  the  blessed  Jesus,  and  the  richest  prin 
cess  and  the  poorest  maiden  are  equal  in  his  sight.  "Ah, 
that  will  be  beautiful !  Holy  Mother,"  she  said,  falling  on 
her  knees  before  the  shrine,  "  here  I  vow  and  promise  that 
I  will  go  praying  to  the  Holy  City.  Smile  on  me  and  help 
me!" 

And  by  the  twinkle  of  the  flickering  lamp  which  threw  its 
light  upon  the  picture,  Agnes  thought  surely  the  placid  face 
brightened  to  a  tender  maternal  smile,  and  her  enthusiastic 
imagination  saw  in  this  an  omen  of  success. 

Old  Elsie  was  moody  and  silent  this  evening,  —  vexed  at 
the  thwarting  of  her  schemes.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the 
idea  had  ever  gained  a  foothold  in  her  mind,  that  her  docile 
and  tractable  grandchild  could  really  have  for  any  serious 
length  of  time  a  will  opposed  to  her  own,  and  she  found  it 
even  now  difficult  to  believe  it.  Hitherto  she  had  shaped 
her  life  as  easily  as  she  could  mould  a  biscuit,  and  it  was  all 
plain  sailing  before  her.  The  force  and  decision  of  this 
young  will  rose  as  suddenly  upon  her  as  the  one  rock  in  the 
middle  of  the  ocean  which  a  voyager  unexpectedly  discov 
ered  by  striking  on  it. 

But  Elsie  by  no  means  regarded  the  game  as  lost.  She 
mentally  went  over  the  field,  considering  here  and  there 
what  was  yet  to  be  done. 

The  subject  had  fairly  been  broached.  Agnes  had  lis 
tened  to  it,  and  parted  in  friendship  from  Antonio.  Now 
11 


242  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

his  old  mother  must  be  soothed  and  pacified ;  and  Antonio 
must  be  made  to  persevere. 

"  What  is  a  girl  worth  that  can  be  won  at  the  first  ask 
ing  ?  "  quoth  Elsie.  "  Depend  upon  it,  she  will  fall  to  think 
ing  of  him,  and  the  next  time  she  sees  him  she  will  give 
him  a  good  look.  The  girl  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have 
a  lover.  No  wonder  she  does  n't  take  to  it  at  first ;  there 's 
where  her  bringing  up  comes  in,  so  different  from  other 
girls'.  Courage,  Elsie  !  Nature  will  speak  in  its  own  time." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  she  prepared  to  go  a  few  steps  from 
their  dwelling,  to  the  cottage  of  Meta  and  Antonio,  which 
was  situated  at  no  great  distance. 

"  Nobody  will  think  of  coming  here  this  time  o'  night,"  she 
said,  "  and  the  girl  is  in  for  a  good  hour  at  least  with  her 
prayers,  and  so  I  think  I  may  venture.  I  don't  really  like 
to  leave  her,  but  it 's  not  a  great  way,  and  I  shall  be  back  in 
a  few  moments.  I  want  just  to  put  a  word  into  old  Meta's 
ear,  that  she  may  teach  Antonio  how  to  demean  himself." 

And  so  the  old  soul  took  her  spinning  and  away  she  went, 
leaving  Agnes  absorbed  in  her  devotions. 

The  solemn  starry  night  looked  down  steadfastly  on  the 
little  garden.  The  evening  wind  creeping  with  gentle  stir 
among  the  orange-leaves,  and  the  falling  waters  of  the  foun 
tain  dripping  their  distant,  solitary  way  down  from  rock  to 
rock  through  the  lonely  gorge,  were  the  only  sounds  that 
broke  the  stillness. 

The  monk  was  the  first  of  the  two  to  return  ;  for  those 
accustomed  to  the  habits  of  elderly  cronies  on  a  gossiping 
expedition  of  any  domestic  importance  will  not  be  surprised 
that  Elsie's  few  moments  of  projected  talk  lengthened  im 
perceptibly  into  hours. 

Agnes  came  forward  anxiously  to  meet  her  uncle.     He 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  243 

seemed  wan  and  haggard,  and  trembling  with  some  recent 
emotion. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  dear  uncle  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Has  anything  happened  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  child,  nothing.  I  have  only  been  talking  on 
painful  subjects,  deep  perplexities,  out  of  which  I  can  scarce 
ly  see  my  way.  "Would  to  God  this  night  of  life  were  past, 
and  I  could  see  morning  on  the  mountains ! " 

"  My  uncle,  have  you  not,  then,  succeeded  in  bringing  this 
young  man  to  the  bosom  of  the  True  Church  ?  " 

"  Child,  the  way  is  hedged  up,  and  made  almost  impassa 
ble  by  difficulties  you  little  wot  of.  They  cannot  be  told 
to  you  ;  they  are  enough  to  destroy  the  faith  of  the  very 
elect." 

Agnes's  heart  sank  within  her ;  and  the  monk,  sitting 
down  on  the  wall  of  the  garden,  clasped  his  hands  over  one 
knee  and  gazed  fixedly  before  him. 

The  sight  of  her  uncle,  —  generally  so  cheerful,  so  elastic, 
so  full  of  bright  thoughts  and  beautiful  words,  —  so  utterly 
cast  down,  was  both  a  mystery  and  a  terror  to  Agnes. 

"  Oh,  my  uncle,"  'she  said,  "  it  is  hard  that  I  must  not 
know,  and  that  I  can  do  nothing,  when  I  feel  ready  to  die 
for  this  cause !  What  is  one  little  life  ?  Ah,  if  I  had  a 
thousand  to  give,  I  could  melt  them  all  into  it,  like  little 
drops  of  rain  in  the  sea !  Be  not  utterly  cast  down,  good 
uncle  !  Does  not  our  dear  Lord  and  Saviour  reign  in  the 
heavens  yet?" 

"  Sweet  little  nightingale  !  "  said  the  monk,  stretching  his 
hand  towards  her.  "  Well  did  my  master  say  that  he  gained 
strength  to  his  soul  always  by  talking  with  Christ's  little 
children  !  " 

"  And  all  the  dear  saints  and  angels,  they  are  not  dead  or 


244  AGI!JES   OF  SORRENTO. 

idle  either,"  said  Agnes,  her  face  kindling;  "they  are  busy 
all  around  us.  I  know  not  what  this  trouble  is  you  speak 
of;  but  let  us  think  what  legions  of  bright  angels  and  holy 
men  and  women  are  caring  for  us." 

"  Well  said,  well  said,  dear  child  !  There  is,  thank  God, 
a  Church  Triumphant,  —  a  crowned  queen,  a  glorious  bride ; 
and  the  poor,  struggling  Church  Militant  shall  rise  to  join 
her !  What  matter,  then,  though  our  way  lie  through  dun 
geon  and  chains,  through  fire  and  sword,  if  we  may  attain  to 
that  glory  at  last?" 

"  Uncle,  are  there  such  dreadful  things  really  before 
you?" 

"  There  may  be,  child.  I  say  of  my  master,  as  did  the 
holy  Apostles  :  *  Let  us  also  go,  that  we  may  die  with  him.' 
I  feel  a  heavy  presage.  But  I  must  not  trouble  you,  child. 
Early  in  the  morning  I  will  be  up  and  away.  I  go  with 
this  youth,  whose  pathway  lies  a  certain  distance  along 
mine,  and  whose  company  I  seek  for  his  good  as  well  as 
my  pleasure." 

"  You  go  with  him  ?  "  said  Agnes,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"Yes ;  his  refuge  in  the  mountains  lies  between  here  and 
Rome,  and  he  hath  kindly  offered  to  bring  me  on  my  way 
faster  than  I  can  go  on  foot ;  and  I  would  fain  see  our  beau 
tiful  Florence  as  soon  as  may  be.  O  Florence,  Florence, 
Lily  of  Italy  !  wilt  thou  let  thy  prophet  perish  ?  " 

"  But,  uncle,  if  he  die  for  the  faith,  he  will  be  a  blessed 
martyr.  That  crown  is  worth  dying  for,"  said  Agnes. 

"  You  say  well,  little  one,  —  you  say  well !  '  Ex  oribus 
parvulorum.'  But  one  shrinks  from  that  in  the  person  of  a 
friend  which  one  could  cheerfully  welcome  for  one's  self. 
Oh,  the  blessed  cross !  never  is  it  welcome  to  the  flesh,  and 
yet  how  joyfully  the  spirit  may  walk  under  it!" 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  245 

"  Dear  uncle,  I  have  made  a  solemn  vow  before  our  Holy 
Mother  this  night,"  said  Agnes,  "  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
Rome,  and  at  every  shrine  and  holy  place  to  pray  that  these 
great  afflictions  which  beset  all  of  you  may  have  a  happy 
issue." 

"  My  sweet  heart,  what  have  you  done  ?  Have  you 
considered  the  unsettled  roads,  the  wild,  unruly  men 
that  are  abroad,  the  robbers  with  which  the  mountains  are 
filled  ?  " 

"  These  are  all  Christ's  children  and  my  brothers,"  said 
Agnes ;  "  for  them  was  the  most  holy  blood  shed,  as  well  as 
for  me.  They  cannot  harm  one  who  prays  for  them." 

"  But,  dear  heart  of  mine,  these  ungodly  brawlers  think 
little  of  prayer ;  and  this  beautiful,  innocent  little  face  will 
but  move  the  vilest  and  most  brutal  thoughts  and  deeds." 

"  Saint  Agnes  still  lives,  dear  uncle,  —  and  He  who  kept 
her  in  worse  trial.  I  shall  walk  through  them  all  pure  as 
snow,  —  I  am  assured  I  shall.  The  star  which  led  the  wise 
men  and  stood  over  the  young  child  and  his  mother  will  lead 
me,  too." 

"  But  your  grandmother  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  will  incline  her  heart  to  go  with  me.  Dear 
uncle,  it  does  not  beseem  a  child  to  reflect  on  its  elders,  yet 
I  cannot  but  see  that  grandmamma  loves  this  world  and  me 
too  well  for  her  soul's  good.  This  journey  will  be  for  her 
eternal  repose." 

"  Well,  well,  dear  one,  I  cannot  now  advise.  Take  advice 
of  your  confessor,  and  the  blessed  Lord  and  his  holy  Mother 
be  with  you !  But  come  now,  I  would  soothe  myself  to 
sleep  ;  for  I  have  need  of  good  rest  to-night.  Let  us  sing 
together  our  dear  master's  hymn  of  the  Cross." 

And  the  monk  and  the  maiden  sung  together :  — 


246  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"lesu,  sommo  conforto, 
Tu  sei  tutto  il  mio  amore 
E'l  mio  beato  porto, 
E  santo  Redentore. 

O  gran  bonta, 

Dolce  pieta, 

Felice  quel  che  teco  unito  sta! 

"Deh,  quante  volte  ofFeso 
T'  ha  1'  alma  e  '1  cor  meschino, 
E  tu  sei  in  croce  steso 
Per  salvar  me,  tapino! 

"lesu,  fuss'  io  confitto 
Sopra  quel  duro  ligno, 
Dove  ti  vedo  afflitto, 
lesu,  Signer  benigno! 

"0  croce,  fammi  loco, 
E  le  mie  membra  prendi, 
Che  del  tuo  dolce  foco 
II  cor  e  1'  alma  accendi! 

"Infiamma  il  mio  cor  tanto 
Dell'  amor  tuo  divino, 
Ch'  io  arda  tutto  quanto, 
Che  paia  un  serafino! 

"  La  croce  e  '1  Crocifisso 
Sia  nel  mio  cor  scolpito, 
Ed  io  sia  sempre  affisso 
In  gloria  oy'  egli  e  ito!  "  * 

As  the  monk  sung,  his  soul  seemed  to  fuse  itself  into  the 
sentiment  with  that  natural  grace  peculiar  to  his  nation.    He 

*  Jesus,  best  comfort  of  my  soul, 

Be  thou  my  only  love, 
My  sacred  saviour  from  my  sins, 
My  door  to  heaven  above ! 
0  lofty  goodness,  love  divine, 
Blest  is  the  soul  made  one  with  thine ! 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  247 

walked  up  and  down  the  little  garden,  apparently  forgetful 
of  Agnes  or  of  any  earthly  presence,  and  in  the  last  verses 
stretched  his  hands  towards  heaven  with  streaming  tears  and 
a  fervor  of  utterance  indescribable. 

The  soft  and  passionate  tenderness  of  the  Italian  words 
must  exhale  in  an  English  translation,  but  enough  may 
remain  to  show  that  the  hymns  with  which  Savonarola  at 
this  time  sowed  the  mind  of  Italy  often  mingled  the  Mo 
ravian  quaintness  and  energy  with  the  Wesleyan  purity  and 
tenderness.  One  of  the  great  means  of  popular  reform 
which  he  proposed  was  the  supplanting  of  the  obscene  and 
licentious  songs,  which  at  that  time  so  generally  defiled  the 
minds  of  the  young,  by  religious  words  and  melodies.  The 

Alas,  how  oft  this  sordid  heart 

Hath  wounded  thy  pure  eye ! 
Yet  for  this  heart  upon  the  cross 

Thou  gav'st  thyself  to  die ! 

Ah,  would  I  were  extended  there, 

Upon  that  cold,  hard  tree, 
Where  I  have  seen  thee,  gracious  Lord, 

Breathe  out  thy  life  for  me ! 

Cross  of  my  Lord,  give  room !  give  room ! 

To  thee  my  flesh  be  given ! 
Cleansed  in  thy  fires  of  love  and  pain, 

My  soul  rise  pure  to  heaven ! 

Burn  in  my  heart,  celestial  flamo, 

With  memories  of  him, 
Till,  from  earth's  dross  refined,  I  rise 

To  join  the  seraphim ! 

Ah,  vanish  each  unworthy  trace 

Of  earthly  care  or  pride, 
Leave  only,  graven  on  my  heart, 

The  Cross,  the  Crucified! 


248  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

children  and  young  people  brought  up  under  his  influence 
were  sedulously  stored  with  treasures  of  sacred  melody,  as 
the  safest  companions  of  leisure  hours,  and  the  surest  guard 
against  temptation. 

"  Come  now,  my  little  one,"  said  the  monk,  after  they  had 
ce'ased  singing,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  Agnes's  head.  "  I 
am  strong  now  ;  I  know  where  I  stand.  And  you,  my  little 
one,  you  are  one  of  my  master's  '  Children  of  the  Cross.' 
You  must  sing  the  hymns  of  our  dear  master,  that  I  have 
taught  you,  when  I  am  far  away.  A  hymn  is  a  singing 
angel,  and  goes  walking  through  the  earth,  scattering  the 
devils  before  it.  Therefore  he  who  creates  hymns  imitates 
the  most  excellent  and  lovely  works  of  our  Lord  God,  who 
made  the  angels.  These  hymns  watch  our  chamber-door, 
they  s'it  upon  our  pillow,  they  sing  to  us  when  we  awake ; 
and  therefore  our  master  was  resolved  to  sow  the  minds  of 
his  young  people  with  them,  as  our  lovely  Italy  is  sown 
with  the  seeds  of  all  colored  flowers.  How  lovely  has  it 
often  been  to  me,  as  I  sat  at  my  work  in  Florence,  to  hear 
the  little  children  go  by.  chanting  of  Jesus  and  Mary,  —  and 
young  men  singing  to  young  maidens,  not  vain  flatteries  of 
their  beauty,  but  the  praises  of  the  One  only  Beautiful, 
whose  smile  sows  heaven  with  stars  like  flowers  !  Ah,  in 
my  day  I  have  seen  blessed  times  in  Florence  !  Truly  was 
she  worthy  to  be  called  the  Lily  City !  —  for  all  her  care 
seemed  to  be  to  make  white  her  garments  to  receive  her 
Lord  and  Bridegroom.  Yes,  though  she  had  sinned  like  the 
Magdalen,  yet  she  loved  much,  like  her.  She  washed  His 
feet  with  her  tears,  and  wiped  them  with  the  hair  of  her 
head.  Oh,  my  beautiful  Florence,  be  true  to  thy  vows,  be 
true  to  thy  Lord  and  Governor,  Jesus  Christ,  and  all  shall 
be  well!" 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  249 

"  Amen,  dear  uncle  ! "  said  Agnes.  "  I  will  not  fail  to 
pray  day  and  night,  that  thus  it  may  be.  And  now,  if  you 
must  travel  so  far,  you  must  go  to  rest.  Grandmamma  has 
gone  long  ago.  I  saw  her  steal  by  as  we  were  singing." 

u  And  is  there  any  message  from  my  little  Agnes  to  this 
young  man  ?  "  asked  the  monk. 

"  Yes.  Say  to  him  that  Agnes  prays  daily  that  he  may 
be  a  worthy  son  and  soldier  of  the  Lord  Jesus." 

"  Amen,  sweet  heart !  Jesu  and  His  sweet  Mother  bless 
thee!" 


11* 


250  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   PENANCE. 

THE  course  of  our  story  requires  us  to  return  to  the 
Capuchin  convent,  and  to  the  struggles  and  trials  of  its 
Superior  ;  for  in  his  hands  is  the  irresistible  authority 
which  must  direct  the  future  life  of  Agnes. 

From  no  guilty  compliances,  no  heedless  running  into 
temptation,  had  he  come  to  love  her.  The  temptation  had 
met  him  in  the  direct  path  of  duty  ;  the  poison  had  been 
breathed  in  with  the  perfume  of  sweetest  and  most  life- 
giving  flowers :  nor  could  he  shun  that  temptation,  nor 
cease  to  inhale  that  fatal  sweetness,  without  confessing 
himself  vanquished  in  a  point  where,  in  his  view,  to  yield 
was  to  be  lost.  The  subtle  and  deceitful  visit  of  Father  Jo 
hannes  to  his  cell  had  the  effect  of  thoroughly  rousing  him 
to  a  complete  sense  of  his  position,  and  making  him  feel  the 
immediate,  absolute  necessity  of  bringing  all  the  energy  of 
his  will,  all  the  resources  of  his  nature  to  bear  on  its  present 
difficulties.  For  he  felt,  by  a  fine  intuition,  that  already  he 
was  watched  and  suspected  ;  —  any  faltering  step  now,  any 
wavering,  any  change  in  his  mode  of  treating  his  female 
penitents,  would  be  maliciously  noted.  The  military  educa 
tion  of  his  early  days  had  still  left  in  his  mind  a  strong  re 
siduum  of  personal  courage  and  honor,  which  made  him 
regard  it  as  dastardly  to  flee  when  he  ought  to  conquer,  and 
therefore  he  set  his  face  as  a  flint  for  victory. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  251 

But  reviewing  his  interior  world,  and  taking  a  survey  of 
the  work  before  him,  he  felt  that  sense  of  a  divided  person 
ality  which  often  becomes  so  vivid  in  the  history  of  indi 
viduals  of  strong  will  and  passion.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
there  were  two  men  within  him  :  the  one  turbulent,  passion 
ate,  demented ;  the  other  vainly  endeavoring  by  authority, 
reason,  and  conscience  to  bring  the  rebel  to  subjection. 
The  discipline  of  conventual  life,  the  extraordinary  auster 
ities  to  which  he  had  condemned  himself,  the  monotonous 
solitude  of  his  existence,  all  tended  to  exalt  the  vivacity  of 
the  nervous  system,  which,  in  the  Italian  constitution,  is  at 
all  times  disproportionately  developed  ;  and  when  those 
weird  harp-strings  of  the  nerves  are  once  thoroughly  un 
strung,  the  fury  and  tempest  of  the  discord  sometimes  ut 
terly  bewilders  the  most  practised  self-government. 

But  he  felt  that  something  must  be  done  with  himself,  and 
done  immediately;  for  in  a  few  days  he  must  again  meet 
Agnes  at  the  confessional.  He  must  meet  her,  not  with 
weak  tremblings  and  passionate  fears,  but  calm  as  Fate, 
inexorable  as  the  Judgment-Day.  He  must  hear  her  con 
fession,  not  as  man,  but  as  God ;  he  must  pronounce  his  judg 
ments  with  a  divine  dispassionateness.  He  must  dive  into 
the  recesses  of  her  secret  heart,  and,  following  with  subtile 
analysis  all  the  fine  courses  of  those  fibres  which  were  feeling 
their  blind  way  towards  an  earthly  love,  must  tear  them  re 
morselessly  away.  Well  could  he  warn  her  of  the  insidious- 
ness  of  earthly  affections  ;  better  than  any  one  else  he  could 
show  her  how  a  name  that  was  blended  with  her  prayers 
and  borne  before  the  sacred  shrine  in  her  most  retired  and 
solemn  hours  might  at  last  come  to  fill  all  her  heart  with  a 
presence  too  dangerously  dear.  He  must  direct  her  gaze  up 
those  mystical  heights  where  an  unearthly  marriage  awaited 


252  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

her,  its  sealed  and  spiritual  bride  ;  he  must  hurry  her  foot 
steps  onward  to  the  irrevocable  issue. 

All  this  was  before  him.  But  ere  it  could  be  done,  he 
must  subdue  himself,  —  he  must  become  calm  and  pulseless, 
in  deadly  resolve;  and  what  prayer,  what  penance  might 
avail  for  this  ?  If  all  that  he  had  already  tried  had  so  mis 
erably  failed,  what  hope  ?  He  resolved  to  quit  for  a  season 
all  human  society,  and  enter  upon  one  of  those  desolate 
periods  of  retreat  from  earthly  converse  well  known  in  the 
annals  of  saintship  as  most  prolific  in  spiritual  victories. 

Accordingly,  on  the  day  after  the  conversation  with 
Father  Johannes,  he  startled  the  monks  by  announcing  to 
them  that  he  was  going  to  leave  them  for  several  days. 

"  My  brothers,"  he  said,  "  the  weight  of  a  fearful  penance 
is  laid  upon  me,  which  I  must  work  out  alone.  I  leave  you 
to-day,  and  charge  you  not  to  seek  to  follow  my  footsteps ; 
but,  as  you  hope  to  escape  hell,  watch  and  wrestle  for  me  and 
yourselves  during  the  time  I  am  gone.  Before  many  days  I 
I  hope  to  return  to  you  with  renewed  spiritual  strength." 

That  evening,  while  Agnes  and  her  uncle  were  sitting 
together  in  their  orange-garden,  mingling  their  parting  pray 
ers  and  hymns,  scenes  of  a  very  different  description  sur 
rounded  the  Father  Francesco. 

One  who  looks  on  the  flowery  fields  and  blue  seas  of  this 
enchanting  region  thinks  that  the  Isles  of  the  Blest  could 
scarcely  find  on  earth  a  more  fitting  image ;  nor  can  he 
realize,  till  experience  proves  it  to  him,  that  he  is  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  a  weird  and  dreary  region  which  might 
represent  no  less  the  goblin  horrors  of  the  damned. 

Around  the  foot  of  Vesuvius  lie  fair  villages  and  villas 
garlanded  with  roses  and  flushing  with  grapes  whose  juice 
gains  warmth  from  the  breathing  of  its  subterraneous  fires, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  253 

while  just  above  them  rises  a  region  more  awful  than  can 
be  created  by  the  action  of  any  common  causes  of  sterility. 
There,  immense  tracts  sloping  gradually  upward  show  a  des 
olation  so  peculiar,  so  utterly  unlike  every  common  solitude 
of  Nature,  that  one  enters  upon  it  with  the  shudder  we  give 
at  that  which  is  wholly  unnatural.  On  all  sides  are  gigantic 
serpent  convolutions  of  black  lava,  their  immense  folds  rolled 
into  every  conceivable  contortion,  as  if,  in  their  fiery  agonies, 
they  had  struggled  and  wreathed  and  knotted  together,  and 
then  grown  cold  and  black  with  the  imperishable  signs  of 
those  terrific  convulsions  upon  them.  Not  a  blade  of  grass, 
not  a  flower,  not  even  the  hardiest  lichen,  springs  up  to  re 
lieve  the  utter  deathliness  of  the  scene.  The  eye  wanders 
from  one  black,  shapeless  mass  to  another,  and  there  is  ever 
the  same  suggestion  of  hideous  monster  life,  —  of  goblin  con 
vulsions  and  strange  fiend-like  agonies  in  some  age  gone 
by.  One's  very  footsteps  have  an  unnatural,  metallic  clink, 
and  one's  garments  brushing  over  the  rough  surface  are 
torn  and  fretted  by  its  sharp,  remorseless  touch,  —  as  if  its 
very  nature  were  so  pitiless  and  acrid  that  the  slightest  con 
tact  revealed  it. 

The  sun  was  just  setting  over  the  beautiful  Bay  of  Naples, 
—  with  its  enchanted  islands,  its  jewelled  city,  its  flowery 
villages,  all  bedecked  and  bedropped  with  strange  shiftings 
and  flushes  of  prismatic  light  and  shade,  as  if  they  belonged 
to  some  fairy-land  of  perpetual  festivity  and  singing,  — 
when  Father  Francesco  stopped  in  his  toilsome  ascent  up 
the  mountain,  and  seating  himself  on  ropy  ridges  of  black 
lava,  looked  down  on  the  peaceful  landscape. 

Above  his  head,  behind  him,  rose  the  black  cone  of  the 
mountain,  over  whose  top  the  lazy  clouds  of  thin  white  smoke 
were  floating,  tinged  with  the  evening  light;  around  him, 
the  desolate  convulsed  waste,  —  so  arid,  so  supernaturally 


254  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

dreary ;  and  below,  like  a  soft  enchanted  dream,  the  beautiful 
bay,  the  gleaming  white  villas  and  towers,  the  picturesque 
islands,  the  gliding  sails,  flecked  and  streaked  and  dyed  with 
the  violet  and  pink  and  purple  of  the  evening  sky.  The 
thin  new  moon  and  one  glittering  star  trembled  through 
the  rosy  air. 

The  monk  wiped  from  his  brow  the  sweat  that  had  been 
caused  by  the  toil  of  his  hurried  journey,  and  listened  to 
the  bells  of  the  Ave  Maria  pealing  from  the  different 
churches  of  Naples,  filling  the  atmosphere  with  a  soft  trem 
ble  of  solemn  dropping  sound,  as  if  spirits  in  the  air  took  up 
and  repeated  over  and  over  the  angelic  salutation  which  a 
thousand  earthly  lips  were  just  then  uttering.  Mechanically 
he  joined  in  the  invocation  which  at  that  moment  united  the 
hearts  of  all  Christians,  and  as  the  words  passed  his  lips,  he 
thought,  with  a  sad,  desolate  longing,  of  the  hour  of  death 
of  which  they  spake. 

"  It  must  come  at  last,"  he  said.  "  Life  is  but  a  moment. 
Why  am  I  so  cowardly  ?  why  so  unwilling  to  suffer  and  to 
struggle  ?  Am  I  a  warrior  of  the  Lord,  and  do  I  shrink 
from  the  toils  of  the  camp,  and  long  for  the  ease  of  the  court 
before  I  have  earned  it  ?  Why  do  we  clamor  for  happiness  ? 
Why  should  we  sinners  be  happy  ?  And  yet,  0  God,  why 
is  the  world  made  so  lovely  as  it  lies  there,  why  so  rejoicing, 
and  so  girt  with  splendor  and  beauty,  if  we  are  never  to 
enjoy  it  ?  If  penance  and  toil  were  all  we  were  sent  here 
for,  why  not  make  a  world  grim  and  desolate  as  this  around 
me  ?  —  then  there  would  be  nothing  to  seduce  us.  But  our 
path  is  a  constant  fight ;  Nature  is  made  only  to  be  resisted  ; 
we  must  walk  the  sharp  blade  of  the  sword  over  the  fiery 
chasm  to  Paradise.  Come,  then  !  —  no  shrinking !  —  let  me 
turn  my  back  on  everything  dear  and  beautiful,  as  now  on 
this  landscape !  " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  255 

He  rose  and  commenced  the  perpendicular  ascent  of  the 
cone,  stumbling  and  climbing  over  the  huge  sliding  blocks 
of  broken  lava,  which  grated  and  crunched  beneath  his  feet 
with  a  harsh  metallic  ring.  Sometimes  a  broken  fragment  or 
two  would  go  tinkling  down  the  rough  path  behind  him,  and 
sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  loose  black  mass  from 
above  were  about  to  slide,  like  an  avalanche,  down  upon  his 
head ;  —  he  almost  hoped  it  would.  Sometimes  he  would 
stop,  overcome  by  the  toil  of  the  ascent,  and  seat  himself 
for  a  moment  on  a  black  fragment,  and  then  his  eye 
would  wander  over  the  wide  and  peaceful  panorama  below. 
He  seemed  to  himself  like  a  fly  perched  upon  some  little 
roughness  of  a  perpendicular  wall,  and  felt  a  strange  airy 
sense  of  pleasure  in  being  thus  between  earth  and  heaven. 
A  sense  of  relief,  of  beauty,  and  peacefulness  would  steal 
over  him,  as  if  he  were  indeed  something  disfranchised  and 
disembodied,  a  part  of  the  harmonious  and  beautiful  world 
that  lay  stretched  out  beneath  him ;  in  a  moment  more  he 
would  waken  himself  with  a  start,  and  resume  his  toilsome 
journey  with  a  sullen  and  dogged  perseverance. 

At  last  he  gained  the  top  of  the  mountain,  —  that  weird, 
strange  region  where  the  loose,  hot  soil,  crumbling  beneath 
his  feet,  was  no  honest  foodful  mother-earth,  but  an  acrid 
mass  of  ashes  and  corrosive  minerals.  Arsenic,  sulphur,  and 
many  a  sharp  and  bitter  salt  were  in  all  he  touched,  every 
rift  in  the  ground  hissed  with  stifling  steam,  while  rolling 
clouds  of  dun  sullen  smoke,  and  a  deep  hollow  booming,  like 
the  roar  of  an  immense  furnace,  told  his  nearness  to  the  great 
crater.  He  penetrated  the  sombre  tabernacle,  and  stood  on 
the  very  brink  of  a  huge  basin,  formed  by  a  wall  of  rocks 
around  a  sunken  plain,  in  the  midst  of  which  rose  the  black 
cone  of  the  subterraneous  furnace,  which  crackled  and  roared 


256  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

and  from  time  to  time  spit  up  burning  stones  and  cinders  or 
oozed  out  slow  ropy  streams  of  liquid  fire. 

The  sulphurous  cliffs  were  dyed  in  many  a  brilliant  shade 
of  brown  and  orange  by  the  admixture  of  various  ores,  but 
their  brightness  seemed  strange  and  unnatural,  and  the  diz 
zying  whirls  of  vapor,  now  enveloping  the  whole  scene  in 
gloom,  now  lifting  in  this  spot  and  now  in  that,  seemed  to 
magnify  the  dismal  pit  to  an  indefinite  size.  Now  and  then 
there  would  come  up  from  the  very  entrails  of  the  mountain 
a  sort  of  convulsed  sob  of  hollow  sound,  and  the  earth  would 
quiver  beneath  his  feet,  and  fragments  from  the  surrounding 
rocks  would  scale  off  and  fall  with  crashing  reverberations 
into  the  depth  beneath ;  at  such  moments  it  would  seem  as 
if  the  very  mountain  were  about  to  crush  in  and  bear  him 
down  in  its  ruins. 

Father  Francesco,  though  blinded  by  the  smoke  and 
choked  by  the  vapor,  could  not  be  content  without  descend 
ing  into  the  abyss  and  exploring  the  very  penetralia  of  its 
mysteries.  Steadying  his  way  by  means  of  a  cord  which  he 
fastened  to  a  firm  projecting  rock,  he  began  slowly  and  pain 
fully  clambering  downward.  The  wind  was  sweeping  across 
the  chasm  from  behind,  bearing  the  noxious  vapors  away 
from  him,  or  he  must  inevitably  have  been  stifled.  It  took 
him  some  little  time,  however,  to  effect  his  descent ;  but  at 
length  he  found  himself  fairly  landed  on  the  dark  floor  of  the 
gloomy  enclosure. 

The  ropy,  pitch-black  undulations  of  lava  yawned  here 
and  there  in  red-hot  cracks  and  seams,  making  it  appear  to 
be  only  a  crust  over  some  fathomless  depth  of  molten  fire, 
whose  meanings  and  boilings  could  be  heard  below.  These 
dark  congealed  billows  creaked  and  bent  as  the  monk  stepped 
upon  them,  and  burned  his  feet  through  his  coarse  sandals ; 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  257 

yet  he  stumbled  on.  Now  and  then  his  foot  would  crush  in, 
where  the  lava  had  hardened  in  a  thinner  crust,  and  he 
would  draw  it  suddenly  back  from  the  lurid  red-hot  metal 
beneath.  The  staff  on  which  he  rested  was  constantly 
kindling  into  a  light  blaze  as  it  slipped  into  some  heated 
hollow,  and  he  was  fain  to  beat  out  the  fire  upon  the  cooler 
surface.  Still  he  went  on  half-stifled  by  the  hot  and  pun 
gent  vapor,  but  drawn  by  that  painful,  unnatural  curiosity 
which  possesses  one  in  a  nightmare  dream.  The  great  cone 
in  the  centre  was  the  point  to  which  he  wished  to  attain,  — 
the  nearest  point  which  man  can  gain  to  this  eternal  mystery 
of  fire.  It  was  trembling  with  a  perpetual  vibration,  a  hol 
low,  pulsating  undertone  of  sound  like  the  surging  of  the  sea 
before  a  storm,  and  the  lava  that  boiled  over  its  sides  rolled 
slowly  down  with  a  strange  creaking ;  it  seemed  the  con 
densed,  intensified  essence  and  expression  of  eternal  fire, 
rising  and  still  rising  from  some  inexhaustible  fountain  of 
burning. 

Father  Francesco  drew  as  near  as  he  could  for  the  stifling 
heat  and  vapor,  and,  resting  on  his  staff,  stood  gazing  in 
tently.  The  lurid  light  of  the  fire  fell  with  an  unearthly 
glare  on  his  pale,  sunken  features,  his  wild,  haggard  eyes, 
and  his  torn  and  disarranged  garments.  In  the  awful  soli 
tude  and  silence  of  the  night  he  felt  his  heart  stand  still,  as 
if  indeed  he  had  touched  with  his  very  hand  the  gates  of 
eternal  woe,  and  felt  its  fiery  breath  upon  his  cheek.  He 
half-imagined  that  the  seams  and  clefts  which  glowed  in 
lurid  lines  between  the  dark  billows  would  gape  yet  wider 
and  show  the  blasting  secrets  of  some  world  of  fiery  despair 
below.  He  fancied  that  he  heard  behind  and  around  the 
mocking  laugh  of  fiends,  and  that  confused  clamor  of  min 
gled  shrieks  and  lamentations  which  Dante  describes  as  fill- 


258  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

ing  the  dusky  approaches  to  that  forlorn  realm  where  hope 
never  enters. 

"  Ah,  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "  for  this  vain  life  of  man ! 
They  eat,  they  drink,  they  dance,  they  sing,  they  marry  and 
are  given  in  marriage,  they  have  castles  and  gardens  and 
villas,  and  the  very  beauty  of  Paradise  seems  over  it  all,  — 
and  yet  how  close  by  burns  and  roars  the  eternal  fire ! 
Fools  that  we  are,  to  clamor  for  indulgence  and  happiness 
in  this  life,  when  the  question  is,  to  escape  everlasting  burn 
ings  !  If  I  tremble  at  this  outer  court  of  God's  wrath  and 
justice,  what  must  be  the  fires  of  hell  ?  These  are  but 
earthly  fires ;  they  can  but  burn  the  body  :  those  are  made 
to  burn  the  soul ;  they  are  undying  as  the  soul  is.  What 
would  it  be  to  be  dragged  down,  down,  down,  into  an  abyss 
of  soul-fire  hotter  than  this  for  ages  on  ages  ?  This  might 
bring  merciful  death  in  time :  that  will  have  no  end." 

The  monk  fell  on  his  knees  and  breathed  out  piercing 
supplications.  Every  nerve  and  fibre  within  him  seemed 
tense  with  his  agony  of  prayer.  It  was  not  the  outcry  for 
purity  and  peace,  not  a  tender  longing  for  forgiveness,  not  a 
filial  remorse  for  sin,  but  the  nervous  anguish  of  him  who 
shrieks  in  the  immediate  apprehension  of  an  unendurable 
torture.  It  was  the  cry  of  a  man  upon  the  rack,  the 
'despairing  scream  of  him  who  feels  himself  sinking  in  a 
burning  dwelling.  Such  anguish  has  found  an  utterance 
in  Stradella's  celebrated  "  Pieta,  Signore,"  which  still  tells 
to  our  ears,  in  its  wild  moans  and  piteous  shrieks,  the 
religious  conceptions  of  his  day ;  for  there  is  no  phase  of 
the  Italian  mind  that  has  not  found  expression  in  its 
music. 

When  the  oppression  of  the  heat  and  sulphurous  vapor 
became  too  dreadful  to  be  borne,  the  monk  retraced  his  way 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  259 

and  climbed  with  difficulty  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  crater, 
till  he  gained  the  summit  above,  where  a  comparatively  free 
air  revived  him.  All  night  he  wandered  up  and  down  in 
that  dreary  vicinity,  now  listening  to  the  mournful  roar  and 
crackle  of  the  fire,  and  now  raising  his  voice  in  penitential 
psalms  or  the  notes  of  that  terrific  "  Dies  Irae  "  which  sums 
up  all  the  intense  fear  and  horror  with  which  the  religion 
of  the  Middle  Ages  clothed  the  idea  of  the  final  catastrophe 
of  humanity.  Sometimes  prostrating  himself  with  his  face 
towards  the  stifling  soil,  he  prayed  with  agonized  intensity 
till  Nature  would  sink  in  a  temporary  collapse,  and  sleep,  in 
spite  of  himself,  would  steal  over  him. 

So  waned  the  gloomy  hours  of  the  night  away,  till  the 
morning  broke  in  the  east,'  turning  all  the  blue  wavering 
floor  of  the  sea  to  crimson  brightness,  and  bringing  up,  with 
the  rising  breeze,  the  barking  of  dogs,  the  lowing  of  kine, 
the  songs  of  laborers  and  boatmen,  all  fresh  and  breezy 
from  the  repose  of  the  past  night. 

Father  Francesco  heard  the  sound  of  approaching  foot 
steps  climbing  the  lava  path,  and  started  with  a  nervous 
trepidation.  Soon  he  recognized  a  poor  peasant  of  the 
vicinity,  whose  child  he  had  tended  during  a  dangerous 
illness.  He  bore  with  him  a  little  basket  of  eggs,  with  a 
melon  and  a  fresh  green  salad. 

"  Good-morning,  holy  father,"  he  said,  bowing  humbly. 
u  I  saw  you  coming  this  way  last  night,  and  I  could  hardly 
sleep  for  thinking  of  you ;  and  my  good  woman,  Teresina, 
would  have  it  that  I  should  come  out  to  look  after  you.  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  to  bring  a  little  offering ;  —  it  was  the 
best  we  had." 

"  Thank  you,  my  son,"  said  the  monk,  looking  wistfully 
at  the  fresh,  honest  face  of  the  peasant.  "  You  have  taken 


260  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

too  much  trouble  for  such  a  sinner.  I  must  not  allow  my 
self  such  indulgences." 

"  But  your  Reverence  must  live.  Look  you,"  said  the 
peasant,  "  at  least  your  reverence  will  take  an  egg.  See 
here,  how  handily  I  can  cook  one,"  he  added,  striking  his 
stick  into  a  little  cavity  of  a  rock,  from  which,  as  from  an 
escape-valve,  hissed  a  jet  of  hot  steam,  —  "  see  here,  I  nestle 
the  egg  in  this  little  cleft,  and  it  will  be  done  in  a  twinkling. 
Our  good  God  gives  us  our  fire  for  nothing  here." 

There  was  something  wholesomely  kindly  and  cheerful  in 
the  action  and  expression  of  the  man,  which  broke  upon  the 
overstrained  and  disturbed  musings  of  the  monk  like  day 
light  on  a  ghastly  dream.  The  honest,  loving  heart  sees 
love  in  everything ;  even  the  fire  is  its  fatherly  helper,  and 
not  its  avenging  enemy. 

Father  Francesco  took  the  egg,  when  it  was  done,  with  a 
silent  gesture  of  thanks. 

"  If  I  might  make  bold  to  say,"  said  the  peasant,  encour 
aged,  "  your  Reverence  should  have  some  care  for  yourself. 
If  a  man  will  not  feed  himself,  the  good  God  will  riot  feed 
him ;  and  we  poor  people  have  too  few  friends  already  to 
let  such  as  you  die.  Your  hands  are  trembling,  and  you 
look  worn  out.  Surely  you  should  take  something  more, 
for  the  very  love  of  the  poor." 

"  My  son,  I  am  bound  to  do  a  heavy  penance,  and  to  work 
ut  a  great  conflict.  I  thank  you  for  your  undeserved  kind- 
ess.  Leave  me  now  to  myself,  and  come  no  more  to  dis 
turb  my  prayers.  Go,  and  God  bless  you  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  peasant,  putting  down  the  basket  and 
melon,  "  I  shall  leave  these  things  here,  any  way,  and  I  beg 
your  Reverence  to  have  a  care  of  yourself.  Teresina  fretted 
all  night  for  fear  something  might  come  to  you.  The  bam- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  261 

lino  that  you  cured  is  grown  a  stout  little  fellow,  and  eats 
enough  for  two,  —  and  it  is  all  of  you  ;  so  she  cannot  forget 
it.  She  is  a  busy  little  woman,  is  Teresina  ;  and  when  she 
gets  a  thought  in  her  head,  it  buzzes,  buzzes,  like  a  fly  in  a 
bottle,  and  she  will  have  it  your  Reverence  is  killing  your 
self  by  inches,  and  says  she,  *  What  will  all  the  poor  do  when 
lie  is  gone  ? '  So  your  Reverence  must  pardon  us.  We 
mean  it  all  for  the  best." 

So  saying,  the  man  turned  and  began  sliding  and  slipping 
down  the  steep  ashy  sides  of  the  mountain  cone  with  a  dex 
terity  which  carried  him  to  the  bottom  in  a  few  moments ; 
and  on  he  went,  sending  back  after  him  a  cheerful  little  air, 
the  refrain  of  which  is  still  to  be  heard  in  our  days  in  that 
neighborhood.  A  word  or  two  of  the  gay  song  fluttered 
back  on  the  ear  of  the  monk,  — 

"Tutta  gioja,  tutta  festa." 

So  gay  and  airy  it  was  in  its  ringing  cadence  that  it  seemed 
a  musical  laugh  springing  from  sunny  skies,  and  came  flut 
tering  into  the  dismal  smoke  and  gloom  of  the  mountain-top 
like  a  very  butterfly  of  sound.  It  struck  on  the  sad,  leaden 
ear  of  the  monk  much  as  we  might  fancy  the  carol  of  a 
robin  over  a  grave  might  seem,  could  the  cold  sleeper  below 
wake  one  moment  to  its  perception.  If  it  woke  one  regret 
ful  sigh  and  drew  one  wandering  look  downward  to  the  elys- 
ian  paradise  that  lay  smiling  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  he 
instantly  suppressed  the  feeling,  and  set  his  face  in  its  old 
deathly  stillness. 


262  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CLOUDS    DEEPENING. 

AFTER  the  departure  of  her  uncle  to  Florence,  the  life 
of  Agnes  was  troubled  and  harassed  from  a  variety  of 
causes. 

First,  her  grandmother  was  sulky  and  moody,  and  though 
saying  nothing  directly  on  the  topic  nearest  her  heart,  yet 
intimating  by  every  look  and  action  that  she  considered 
Agnes  as  a  most  ungrateful  and  contumacious  child.  Then 
there  was  a  constant  internal  perplexity,  —  a  constant  wea 
rying  course  of  self-interrogation  and  self-distrust,  the  pain 
of  a  sensitive  spirit  which  doubts  at  every  moment  whether 
it  may  not  be  falling  into  sin.  The  absence  of  her  kind 
uncle  at  this  time  took  from  her  the  strongest  support  on 
which  she  had  leaned  in  her  perplexities.  Cheerful,  airy, 
and  elastic  in  his  temperament,  always  full  of  fresh-springing 
and  beautiful  thoughts,  as  an  Italian  dell  is  of  flowers,  the 
charming  old  man  seemed,  while  he  stayed  with  Agnes,  to 
be  the  door  of  a  new  and  fairer  world,  where  she  could  walk 
in  air  and  sunshine,  and  find  utterance  for  a  thousand 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  at  all  other  times  lay  in  cold 
repression  in  her  heart.  His  counsels  were  always  so 
wholesome,  his  sympathies  so  quick,  his  devotion  so  fer 
vent  and  cheerful,  that  while  with  him  Agnes  felt  the 
burden  of  her  life  insensibly  lifted  and  carried  for  her  as 
by  some  angel  guide. 

Now  they  had  all  come  back  upon  her,  heavier  a  thou- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  263 

sand-fold  than  ever  they  had  been  before.  Never  did  she 
so  much  need  counsel  and  guidance,  —  never  had  she  so 
much  within  herself  to  be  solved  and  made  plain  to  her  own 
comprehension  ;  yet  she  thought  with  a  strange  shiver  of 
her  next  visit  to  her  confessor.  That  austere  man,  so  chill 
ing,  so  awful,  so  far  above  all  conception  of  human  weak 
nesses,  how  should  she  dare  to  lay  before  him  all  the  secrets 
of  her  breast,  especially  when  she  must  confess  to  having 
disobeyed  his  most  stringent  commands  ?  She  had  had 
another  interview  with  this  forbidden  son  of  perdition,  but 
how  it  was  she  knew  not.  How  could  such  things  have 
happened  ?  Instead  of  shutting  her  eyes  and  turning  her 
head  and  saying  prayers,  she  had  listened  to  a  passion 
ate  declaration  of  love,  and  his  last  word  had  called  her  his 
wife.  Her  heart  thrilled  every  time  she  thought  of  it ;  and 
somehow  she  could  not  feel  sure  that  it  was  exactly  a  thrill 
of  penitence.  It  was  all  like  a  strange  dream  to  her ;  and 
sometimes  she  looked  at  her  little  brown  hands  and  won 
dered  if  he  really  had  kissed  them,  —  he,  the  splendid 
strange  vision  of  a  man,  the  prince  from  fairy-land  ! 
Agnes  had  never  read  romances,  it  is  true,  but  she  had 
been  brought  up  on  the  legends  of  the  saints,  and  there 
never  wast  a  marvel  possible  to  human  conception  that  had 
not  been  told  there.  Princes  had  come  from  China  and 
Barbary  and  Abyssinia  and  every  other  strange  out-of-the- 
way  place,  to  kneel  at  the  feet  of  fair,  obdurate  saints  who 
would  not  even  turn  the  head  to  look  at  them ;  but  she  had 
acted,  she  was  conscious,  after  a  much  more  mortal  fashion, 
and  so  made  herself  work  for  confession  and  penance.  Yet 
certainly  she  had  not  meant  to  do  so  ;  the  interview  came  on 
her  so  suddenly,  so  unexpectedly  ;  and  somehow  he  would 
speak,  and  he  would  not  go  when  she  asked  him  to ;  and 


264  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

she  remembered  how  he  looked  when  he  stood  right  before 
her  in  the  door-way  and  told  her  she  should  hear  him,  —  how 
the  color  flushed  up  in  his  cheeks,  what  a  fire  there  was  in 
his  great  dark  eyes  ;  he  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  do 
something  desperate  then  ;  it  made  her  hold  her  breath  even 
now  to  think  of  it. 

"  These  -princes  and  nobles,"  she  thought,  "  are  so  used  to 
command,  it  is  no  wonder  they  make  us  feel  as  if  they  .must 
have  their  will.  I  have  heard  grandmother  call  them  wolves 
and  vultures,  that  are  ready  to  tear  us  poor  folk  to  pieces ; 
but  I  am  sure  he  seems  gentle.  I  'm  sure  it  is  n't  wicked 
or  cruel  for  him  to  want  to  make  me  his  wife  ;  and  he 
could  n't  know,  of  course,  why  it  was  n't  right  he  should ; 
and  it  really  is  beautiful  of  him  to  love  me  so.  Oh,  if  I 
were  only  a  princess,  and  he  loved  me  that  way,  how  glad  I 
should  be  to  give  up  everything  and  go  to  him  alone  !  And 
then  we  would  pray  together ;  and  I  really  think  that  would 
be  much  better  than  praying  all  alone.  He  said  men  had  so 
much  more  to  tempt  them.  Ah,  that  is  true  !  How  can 
little  moles  that  grub  in  the  ground  know  of  the  dangers  of 
eagles  that  fly  to  the  very  sun  ?  Holy  Mother,  look  merci 
fully  upon  him  and  save  his  soul ! " 

Such  were  the  thoughts  of  Agnes  the  day  when  she  was 
preparing  for  her  confession  ;  and  all  the  way  to  church  she 
found  them  floating  and  dissolving  and  reappearing  in  new 
forms  in  her  mind,  like  the  silvery  smoke-clouds  which  were 
constantly  veering  and  sailing  over  Vesuvius. 

Only  one  thing  was  firm  and  never  changing,  and  that 
was  the  purpose  to  reveal  everything  to  her  spiritual  direc 
tor.  When  she  kneeled  at  the  confessional  with  closed  eyes, 
and  began  her  whispered  acknowledgments,  she  tried  to  feel 
as  if  she  were  speaking  in  the  ear  of  God  alone,  —  that 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  265 

God  whose  spirit  she  was  taught  to  believe,  for  the  time 
being,  was  present  in  His  minister  before  whom  her  inmost 
heart  was  to  be  unveiled. 

He  who  sat  within  had  just  returned  from  his  lonely  re 
treat  with  his  mind  and  nerves  in  a  state  of  unnatural  ten 
sion,  —  a  sort  of  ecstatic  clearness  and  calmness,  which  he 
mistook  for  victory  and  peace.  During  those  lonely  days 
when  he  had  wandered  afar  from  human  converse,  and  was 
surrounded  only  by  objects  of  desolation  and  gloom,  he  had 
passed  through  as  many  phases  of  strange,  unnatural  experi 
ence  as  there  were  flitting  smoke-wreaths  eddying  about  him. 

There  are  depths  in  man's  nature  and  his  possibilities 
which  no  plummet  has  ever  sounded,  —  the  wild,  lonely 
joys  of  fanatical  excitement,  the  perfectly  ravenous  appetite 
for  self-torture,  which  seems  able,  in  time,  to  reverse  the 
whole  human  system,  and  make  a  heaven  of  hell.  How 
else  can  we  understand  the  facts  related  both  in  Hindoo 
and  in  Christian  story,  of  those  men  and  women  who  have 
found  such  strange  raptures  in  slow  tortures,  prolonged  from 
year  to  year,  till  pain  became  a  habit  of  body  and  mind  ? 
It  is  said,  that,  after  the  tortures  of  the  rack,  the  reaction 
of  the  overstrained  nerves  produces  a  sense  of  the  most 
exquisite  "relief  and  repose  ;  and  so  when  mind  and  body  are 
harrowed,  harassed  to  the  very  outer  verge  of  endurance, 
come  wild  throbbings  and  transports,  and  strange  celestial 
clairvoyance,  which  the  mystic  hails  as  the  descent  of  the 
New  Jerusalem  into  his  soul. 

It  had  seemed  to  Father  Francesco,  when  he  came  down 
from  the  mountain,  that  he  had  left  his  body  behind  him,  — 
that  he  had  left  earth  and  earthly  things;  his  very  feet  touch 
ing  the  ground  seemed  to  tread  not  on  rough,  resisting  soil, 
but  upon  elastic  cloud.  He  saw  a  strange  excess  of  beauty 
12 


266  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

in  every  flower,  in  every  leaf,  in  the  wavering  blue  of  the  sea, 
in  the  red  grottoed  rocks  that  overhung  the  shore,  with  their 
purple,  green,  orange,  and  yellow  hangings  of  flower-and- 
leaf-tapestry.  The  songs  of  the  fishermen  on  the  beach,  the 
peasant-girls  cutting  flowery  fodder  for  the  cattle,  all  seemed 
to  him  to  have  an  unnatural  charm.  As  one  looking  through 
a  prism  sees  a  fine  bordering  of  rainbow  on  every  object,  so 
he  beheld  a  glorified  world.  His  former  self  seemed  to  him 
something  forever  past  and  gone.  He  looked  at  himself  as 
at  another  person,  who  had  sinned  and  suffered,  and  was 
now  resting  in  beatified  repose  ;  and  he  fondly  thought  all 
this  was  firm  reality,  and  believed  that  he  was  now  proof 
against  all  earthly  impressions,  able  to  hear  and  to  judge 
with  the  dispassionate  calmness  of  a  disembodied  spirit. 
He  did  not  know  that  this  high-strung  calmness,  this  fine 
clearness,  were  only  the  most  intense  forms  of  nervous  sensi 
bility,  and  as  vividly  susceptible  to  every  mortal  impression 
as  is  the  vitalized  chemical  plate  to  the  least  action  of  the 
sun's  rays. 

When  Agnes  began  her  confession,  her  voice  seemed  to 
him  to  pass  through  every  nerve ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  could 
feel  her  presence  thrilling  through  the  very  wood  of  the 
confessional.  He  was  astonished  and  dismayed  aC  his  own 
emotion.  But  when  she  began  to  speak  of  the  interview 
with  the  cavalier,  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot  with  uncon 
trollable  passion.  Nature  long  repressed  came  back  in  a 
tempestuous  reaction.  He  crossed  himself  again  and  again, 
he  tried  to  pray,  and  blessed  those  protecting  shadows  which 
concealed  his  emotion  from  the  unconscious  one  by  his  side. 
But  he  set  his  teeth  in  deadly  resolve,  and  his  voice,  as 
he  questioned  her,  came  forth  cutting  and  cold  as  ice  crys 
tals. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  267 

"  Why  did  you  listen  to  a  word  ?  " 

"  My  father,  it  was  so  sudden.  He  wakened  me  from 
sleep.  I  answered  him  before  I  thought." 

"  You  should  not  have  been  sleeping.  It  was  a  sinful 
indolence." 

"Yes,  my  father." 

"  See  now  to  what  it  led.  The  enemy  of  your  soul,  ever 
watching,  seized  this  moment  to  tempt  you." 

"  Yes,  my  father." 

"  Examine  your  soul  well,"  said  Father  Francesco,  in  a 
tone  of  austere  severity  that  made  Agnes  tremble.  "  Did 
you  not  find  a  secret  pleasure  in  his  words?" 

"My  father,  I  fear  I  did,"  said  she,  with  a  trembling 
voice. 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  "  the  priest  muttered  to  himself, 
while  the  great  drops  started  on  his  forehead,  in  the  intensity 
of  the  conflict  he  repressed.  Agnes  thought  the  solemn 
pause  that  followed  was  caused  by  the  horror  that  had  been 
inspired  by  her  own  sinfulness. 

"You  did  not,  then,  heartily  and  truly  wish  him  to  go 
from  you  ? "  pursued  the  cold,  severe  voice. 

"  Yes,  my  father,  I  did.  I  wished  him  to  go  with  all  my 
soul." 

"  Yet  you  say  you  found  pleasure  in  his  being  near  you," 
said  Father  Francesco,  conscious  how  every  string  of  his 
own  being,  even  in  this  awful  hour,  was  vibrating  with  a 
sort  of  desperate,  miserable  joy  in  being  once  more  near  to 
her. 

"  Ah,"  sighed  Agnes,  "  that  is  true,  my  father,  —  woe  is 
me  !  Please  tell  me  how  I  could  have  helped  it.  I  was 
pleased  before  I  knew  it." 

"  And  you  have  been  thinking  of  what  he  said  to  you 


268  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

with  pleasure  since  ?  "  pursued  the  confessor,  with  an  intense 
severity  of  manner,  deepening  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  faltered  Agnes. 

"  Beware  how  you  trifle  with  the  holy  sacrament !  An 
swer  frankly.  You  have  thought  of  it  with  pleasure.  Con 
fess  it." 

"  I  do  not  understand  myself  exactly,"  said  Agnes.  "  I 
have  thought  of  it  partly  with  pleasure  and  partly  with 
pain." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  with  him  and  be  his  wife,  as  he 
said?" 

"If  it  were  right,  father,  —  not  otherwise." 

"  Oh,  foolish  child  !  oh,  blinded  soul !  to  think  of  right  in 
connection  with  an  infidel  and  heretic  !  Do  you  not  see  that 
all  this  is  an  artifice  of  Satan  ?  He  can  transform  himself 
into  an  angel  of  light.  Do  you  suppose  this  heretic  would 
be  brought  back  to  the  Church  by  a  foolish  girl?  Do  you 
suppose  it  is  your  prayers  he  wants  ?  Why  does  he  not 
seek  the  prayers  of  the  Church,  —  of  holy  men  who  have 
power  with  God  ?  He  would  bait  his  hook  with  this 
pretence  that  he  may  catch  your  soul.  Do  you  believe  me  ?  " 

"I  am  bound  to  believe  you,  my  father." 

"  But  you  do  not.  Your  heart  is  going  after  this  wicked 
man." 

"  Oh,  my  father,  I  do  not  wish  it  should.  I  never  wish  or 
expect  to  see  him  more.  I  only  pray  for  him  that  his  soul 
may  not  be  lost." 

"  He  has  gone,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  father.  And  he  went  with  my  uncle,  a  most 
holy  monk,  who  has  undertaken  the  work  of  his  salvation. 
He  listens  to  my  uncle,  who  has  hopes  of  restoring  him  to 
the  Church." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  269 

"  That  is  well.  And  now,  my  daughter,  listen  to  me. 
You  must  root  out  of  your  thought  every  trace  and  remem 
brance  of  these  words  of  sinful  earthly  love  which  he  hath 
spoken.  Such  love  would  burn  your  soul  to  all  eternity 
with  fire  that  never  could  be  quenched.  If  you  can  tear 
away  all  roots  and  traces  of  this  from  your  heart,  if  by  fast 
ing  and  prayer  and  penance  you  can  become  worthy  to  be 
a  bride  of  your  divine  Lord,  then  your  prayers  will  gain 
power,  and  you  may  prevail  to  secure  his  eternal  salvation. 
But  listen  to  me,  daughter,  —  listen  and  tremble  !  If  ever 
you  should  yield  to  his  love  and  turn  back  from  this  heav 
enly  marriage  to  follow  him,  you  will  accomplish  his  damna 
tion  and  your  own  ;  to  all  eternity  he  will  curse  you,  while 
the  fire  rages  and  consumes  him,  —  he  will  curse  the  hour 
that  he  first  saw  you." 

These  words  were  spoken  with  an  intense  vehemence 
which  seemed  almost  supernatural.  Agnes  shivered  and 
trembled ;  a  vague  feeling  of  guilt  overwhelmed  and  dis 
heartened  her ;  she  seemed  to  herself  the  most  lost  and 
abandoned  of  human  beings. 

"  My  father,  I  shall  think  no  penance  too  severe  that  may 
restore  my  soul  from  this  sin.  I  have  already  made  a  vow 
to  the  blessed  Mother  that  I  will  walk  on  foot  to  the  Holy 
City,  praying  in  every  shrine  and  holy  place  ;  and  I  humbly 
ask  your  approval." 

This  announcement  brought  to  the  mind  of  the  monk  a 
sense  of  relief  and  deliverance.  He  felt  already,  in  the 
terrible  storm  of  agitation  which  this  confession  had  aroused 
within  him,  that  nature  was  not  dead,  and  that  he  was  infi 
nitely  farther  from  the  victory  of  passionless  calm  than  he 
had  supposed.  He  was  still  a  man,  —  torn  with  human 
passions,  with  a  love  which  he  must  never  express,  and  a 


270  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

jealousy  which  burned  and  writhed  at  every  word  which  he 
had  wrung  from  its  unconscious  object.  Conscience  had 
begun  to  whisper  in  his  ear  that  there  would  be  no  safety  to 
him  in  continuing  this  spiritual  dictatorship  to  one  whose 
every  word  unmanned  him,  —  that  it  was  laying  himself 
open  to  a  ceaseless  temptation,  which  in  some  blinded,  dreary 
hour  of  evil  might  hurry  him  into  acts  of  horrible  sacrilege  ; 
and  he  was  once  more  feeling  that  wild,  stormy  revolt  of 
his  inner  nature  that  so  distressed  him  before  he  left  the 
convent. 

This  proposition  of  Agnes'  struck  him  as  a  compromise. 
It  would  take  her  from  him  only  for  a  season,  she  would  go 
under  his  care  and  direction,  and  he  would  gradually  recover 
his  calmness  and  self-possession  in  her  absence.  Her  pil 
grimage  to  the  holy  places  would  be  a  most  proper  and  fit 
preparation  for  the  solemn  marriage-rite  which  should  for 
ever  sunder  her  from  all  human  ties,  and  make  her  inacces 
sible  to  all  solicitations  of  human  love.  Therefore,  after  an 
interval  of  silence,  he  answered,  — 

"  Daughter,  your  plan  is  approved.  Such  pilgrimages 
have  ever  been  held  meritorious  works  in  the  Church,  and 
there  is  a  special  blessing  upon  them." 

"  My  father,"  said  Agnes,  "  it  has  always  been  in  my 
heart  from  my  childhood  to  be  the  bride  of  the  Lord ;  but 
my  grandmother,  who  brought  me  up,  and  to  whom  I  owe 
the  obedience  of  a  daughter,  utterly  forbids  me :  she  will 
not  hear  a  word  of  it.  No  longer  ago  than  last  Monday  she 
told  me  I  might  as  well  put  a  knife  into  her  heart  as  speak 
of  this." 

u  And  you,  daughter,  do  you  put  the  feelings  of  any 
earthly  friend  before  the  love  of  your  Lord  and  Creator 
who  laid  down  His  life  for  you?  Hear  what  He  saith:  — 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  271 

f  He  that  loveth  father  or  mother  more  than  me  is  not  wor 
thy  of  me.'  " 

"  But  my  poor  old  grandmother  has  no  one  but  me  in  the 
world,  and  she  has  never  slept  a  night  without  me ;  she  is 
getting  old,  and  she  has  worked  for  me  all  her  good  days ; 
—  it  would  be  very  hard  for  her  to  lose  me." 

"  Ah,  false,  deceitful  heart !  Has,  then,  thy  Lord  not 
labored  for  thee  ?  Has  He  not  borne  thee  through  all  the 
years  of  thy  life  ?  And  wilt  thou  put  the  love  of  any  mor 
tal  before  His  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Agnes,  with  a  sort  of  hardy  sweetness,  — 
"  but  my  Lord  does  not  need  me  as  grandmother  does ;  He 
is  in  glory,  and  will  never  be  old  or  feeble  ;  I  cannot  work 
for  Him  and  tend  Him  as  I  shall  her.  I  cannot  see  my 
way  clear  at  present ;  but  when  she  is  gone,  or  if  the  saints 
move  her  to  consent,  I  shall  then  belong  to  God  alone." 

"  Daughter,  there  is  some  truth  in  your  words ;  and  if 
your  Lord  accepts  you,  He  will  dispose  her  heart.  Will 
she  go  with  you  on  this  pilgrimage  ?  " 

"I  have  prayed  that  she  might,  father,  —  that  her  soul 
may  be  quickened  ;  for  I  fear  me,  dear  old  grandmamma 
has  found  her  love  for  me  a  snare,  —  she  has  thought  too 
much  of  my  interests  and  too  little  of  her  own  soul,  poor 
grandmamma !  " 

"  Well,  child,  I  shall  enjoin  this  pilgrimage  on  her  as  a 
penance." 

"  I  have  grievously  offended  her  lately,"  said  Agnes,  "  in 
rejecting  an  offer  of  marriage  with  a  man  on  whom  she  had 
set  her  heart,  and  therefore  she  does  not  listen  to  me  as  she 
is  wont  to  do." 

"  You  have  done  right  in  refusing,  my  daughter.  I  will 
speak  to  her  of  this,  and  show  her  how  great  is  the  sin  of 


272  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

opposing  a  holy  vocation  in  a  soul  whom  the  Lord  calls  to 
Himself,  and  enjoin  her  to  make  reparation  by  uniting  with 
you  in  this  holy  work." 

Agnes  departed  from  the  confessional  without  even  look 
ing  upon  the  face  of  her  director,  who  sat  within  listening  to 
the  rustle  of  her  dress  as  she  rose,  —  listening  to  the  soft 
fall  of  her  departing  footsteps,  and  praying  that  grace  might 
be  given  him  not  to  look  after  her :  and  he  did  not,  though 
he  felt  as  if  his  life  were  going  with  her. 

Agnes  tripped  round  the  aisle  to  a  little  side-chapel  where 
a  light  was  always  kept  burning  by  her  before  a  picture  of 
Saint  Agnes,  and,  kneeling  there,  waited  till  her  grand 
mother  should  be  through  with  her  confession. 

"  Ah,  sweet  Saint  Agnes,"  she  said,  "  pity  me  !  I  am  a 
poor  ignorant  young  girl,  and  have  been  led  into  grievous 
sin  ;  but  I  did  not  mean  to  do  wrong,  —  I  have  been  trying 
to  do  right ;  pray  for  me,  that  I  may  overcome  as  you  did. 
Pray  our  dear  Lord  to  send  you  with  us  on  this  pilgrimage, 
and  save  us  from  all  wicked  and  brutal  men  who  would  do 
us  harm.  As  the  Lord  delivered  you  in  sorest  straits,  keep 
ing  soul  and  body  pure  as  a  lily,  ah,  pray  Him  to  keep  me ! 
I  love  you  dearly,  —  watch  over  me  and  guide  me." 

In  those  days  of  the  Church,  such  addresses  to  the  glori 
fied  saints  had  become  common  among  all  Christians.  They 
were  not  regarded  as  worship,  any  more  than  a  similar  out 
pouring  of  confidence  to  a  beloved  and  revered  friend  yet 
in  the  body.  Among  the  hymns  of  Savonarola  is  one  ad 
dressed  to  Saint  Mary  Magdalen,  whom  he  regarded  with 
an  especial  veneration.  The  great  truth,  that  God  is  not 
the  God  of  the  dead,  but  of  the  living,  that  all  live  to  Him, 
was  in  those  ages  with  the  truly  religious  a  part  of  spiritual 
consciousness.  The  saints  of  the  Church  Triumphant,  hav- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  273 

ing  become  one  with  Christ  as  he  is  one  with  the  Father, 
were  regarded  as  invested  with  a  portion  of  his  divinity,  and 
as  the  ministering  agency  through  which  his  mediatorial 
government  on  earth  was  conducted ;  and  it  was  thought  to 
be  in  the  power  of  the  sympathetic  heart  to  attract  them 
by  the  outflow  of  its  affections,  so  that  their  presence  often 
overshadowed  the  walks  of  daily  life  with  a  cloud  of  healing 
and  protecting  sweetness. 

If  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion  in  regard  to  these  invisible 
friends  became  extravagant  and  took  the  language  due  to 
God  alone,  it  was  no  more  than  the  fervid  Italian  nature 
was  always  doing  with  regard  to  visible  objects  of  affection. 
Love  with  an  Italian  always  tends  to  become  worship,  and 
some  of  the  language  of  the  poets  addressed  to  earthly  loves 
rises  into  intensities  of  expression  due  only  to  the  One,  Sov 
ereign,  Eternal  Beauty.  One  sees  even  in  the  writings  of 
Cicero  that  this  passionate  adoring  kind  of  love  is  not  con 
fined  to  modern  times.  When  he  loses  the  daughter  in 
whom  his  heart  is  garnered  up,  he  finds  no  comfort  except 
in  building  a  temple  to  her  memory,  —  a  blind  outreaching 
towards  the  saint- worship  of  modern  times. 

Agnes  rose  from  her  devotions,  and  went  with  downcast 
eyes,  her  lips  still  repeating  prayers,  to  the  font  of  holy 
water,  which  was  in  a  dim  shadowy  corner,  where  a  painted 
window  cast  a  gold  and  violet  twilight.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  rustle  of  garments  in  the  dimness,  and  a  jewelled  hand  es 
sayed  to  pass  holy  water  to  her  on  the  tip  of  its  finger.  This 
mark  of  Christian  fraternity,  common  in  those  times,  Agnes 
almost  mechanically  accepted,  touching  her  slender  finger  to 
the  one  extended,  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  while 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  see  who  stood  there.  Gradually  the 
haze  cleared  from  her  mind,  and  she  awoke  to  the  con- 
12* 


274  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

sciousness  that  it  was  the  cavalier !  He  moved  to  come 
towards  her,  with  a  bright  smile  on  his  face ;  but  suddenly 
she  became  pale  as  one  who  has  seen  a  spectre,  and,  pushing 
from  her  with  both  hands,  she  said  faintly,  "  Go,  go  ! "  and 
turned  and  sped  up  the  aisle  silently  as  a  sunbeam,  joining 
her  grandmother,  who  was  coming  from  the  confessional 
with  a  gloomy  and  sullen  brow. 

Old  Elsie  had  been  enjoined  to  unite  with  her  grandchild 
in  this  scheme  of  a  pilgrimage,  and  received  the  direction 
with  as  much  internal  contumacy  as  would  a  thriving  church- 
member  of  Wall  Street  a  proposition  to  attend  a  protracted 
meeting  in  the  height  of  the  business  season.  Not  but  that 
pilgrimages  were  holy  and  gracious  works,  —  she  was  too 
good  a  Christian  not  to  admit  that,  —  but  why  must  holy 
and  gracious  works  be  thrust  on  her  in  particular  ?  There 
were  saints  enough  who  liked  such  things ;  and  people  could 
get  to  heaven  without,  —  if  not  with  a  very  abundant  en 
trance,  still  in  a  modest  way,  —  and  Elsie's  ambition  for 
position  and  treasure  in  the  spiritual  world  was  of  a  very 
moderate  cast. 

"  Well,  now,  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,"  she  said  to  Agnes, 
as  she  pulled  her  along  with  no  very  gentle  hand  ;  "  you  've 
got  me  sent  off  on  a  pilgrimage,  —  and  my  old  bones  must 
be  rattling  up  and  down  all  the  hills  between  here  and 
Rome,  —  and  who 's  to  see  to  the  oranges?  —  they  '11  all  be 
stolen,  every  one." 

"  Grandmother,"  began  Agnes  in  a  pleading  voice 

"  Oh,  you  hush  up  !  I  know  what  you  're  going  to  say  : 
1  The  good  Lord  will  take  care  of  them.'  I  wish  He  may  ! 
He  has  His  hands  full,  with  all  the  people  that  go  cawing 
and  psalm-singing  like  so  many  crows,  and  leave  all  their 
affairs  to  Him!" 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  275 

Agnes  walked  along  disconsolate,  with  her  eyes  full  of 
tears,  which  coursed  one  another  down  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  There 's  Antonio,"  pursued  Elsie,  "  would  perhaps  look 
after  things  a  little.  He  is  a  good  fellow,  and  only  yester 
day  was  asking  if  he  could  n't  do  something  for  us.  It 's  you 
he  does  it  for,  —  but  little  you  care  who  loves  you,  or  what 
they  do  for  you  ! " 

At  this  moment  they  met  old  Jocunda,  whom  we  have 
before  introduced  to  the  reader  as  portress  of  the  Convent. 
She  had  on  her  arm  a  large  square  basket,  which  she  was 
storing  for  its  practical  uses. 

"  Well,  well,  Saint  Agnes  be  praised,  I  have  found  you  at 
last,"  she  said.  "  I  was  wanting  to  speak  about  some  of  your 
blood-oranges  for  conserving.  An  order  has  come  down 
from  our  dear  gracious  lady,  the  Queen,  to  prepare  a  lot  for 
her  own  blessed  eating,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  would  get 
none  of  anybody  but  you.  —  But  what 's  this,  my  little  heart, 
my  little  lamb  ?  —  crying  ?  —  tears  in  those  sweet  eyes  ? 
What 's  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  Matter  enough  for  me  !  "  said  Elsie.  "  It 's  a  weary 
world  we  live  in.  A  body  can't  turn  any  way  and  not  meet 
with  trouble.  If  a  body  brings  up  a  girl  one  way,  why, 
every  fellow  is  after  her,  and  one  has  no  peace ;  and  if  a 
body  brings  her  up  another  way,  she  gets  her  head  in  the 
clouds,  and  there  's  no  good  of  her  in  this  world.  Now  look 
at  that  girl,  —  does  n't  everybody  say  it 's  time  she  were 
married  ?  —  but  no  marrying  for  her  !  Nothing  will  do  but 
we  must  off  to  Rome  on  a  pilgrimage,  —  and  what 's  the 
good  of  that,  I  want  to  know  ?  If  it 's  praying  that 's  to  be 
done,  the  dear  saints  know  she's  at  it  from  morning  till 
night,  —  and  lately  she  's  up  and  down  three  or  four  times  a 
night  with  some  prayer  or  other." 


276  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Jocunda,  "  who  started  this  idea  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Father  Francesco  and  she  got  it  up  between  them, 

—  and  nothing  will  do  but  I  must  go,  too." 

"  Well,  now,  after  all,  my  dear,"  said  Jocunda,  "  do  you 
know,  I  made  a  pilgrimage  once,  and  it  is  n't  so  bad.  One 
gets  a  good  deal  by  it,  first  and  last.  Everybody  drops 
something  into  your  hand  as  you  go,  and  one  gets  treated  as 
if  one  were  somebody  a  little  above  the  common  ;  and  then 
in  Rome  one  has  a  princess  or  a  duchess  or  some  noble  lady 
who  washes  one's  feet,  and  gives  one  a  good  supper,  and 
perhaps  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  and  all  that,  —  and  ten  to  one 
there  comes  a  pretty  little  sum  of  money  to  boot,  if  one 
plays  one's  cards  well.  A  pilgrimage  is  n't  bad,  after  all ; 

—  one  sees  a  world  of  fine  things,  and  something  new  every 
day." 

"  But  who  is  to  look  after  our  garden  and  dress  our 
trees?" 

"  Ah,  now,  there 's  Antonio,  and  old  Meta  his  mother," 
said  Jocunda,  with  a  knowing  wink  at  Agnes.  "I  fancy 
there  are  friends  there  that  would  lend  a  hand  to  keep  things 
together  against  the  little  one  comes  home.  If  one  is  going 
to  be  married,  a  pilgrimage  brings  good  luck  in  the  family. 
All  the  saints  take  it  kindly  that  one  comes  so  far  to  see 
them,  and  are  more  ready  to  do  a  good  turn  for  one  when 
one  needs  it.  The  blessed  saints  are  like  other  folks,  —  they 
like  to  be  treated  with  proper  attention." 

This  view  of  pilgrimages  from  the  material  stand-point 
had  more  effect  on  the  mind  of  Elsie  than  the  most  elaborate 
appeals  of  Father  Francesco.  She  began  to  acquiesce, 
though  with  a  reluctant  air. 

Jocunda,  seeing  her  words  had  made  some  impression, 
pursued  her  advantage  on  the  spiritual  ground. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  277 

"  To  be  sure/'  she  added,  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is  with 
you  ;  but  I  know  that  /  have,  one  way  and  another,  rolled 
up  quite  an  account  of  sins  in  my  life.  When  I  was  tramp 
ing  up  and  down  with  my  old  man  through  the  country,  — 
now  in  this  castle  and  then  in  that  camp,  and  now  and  then 
in  at  the  sacking  of  a  city  or  village,  or  something  of  the 
kind,  —  the  saints  forgive  us  !  —  it  does  seem  as  if  one  got 
into  things  that  were  not  of  the  best  sort,  in  such  times. 
It 's  true,  it 's  been  wiped  out  over  and  over  by  the  priest ; 
but  then  a  pilgrimage  is  a  good  thing  to  make  all  sure,  in 
case  one's  good  works  should  fall  short  of  one's  sins  at  last. 
I  can  tell  you,  a  pilgrimage  is  a  good  round  weight  to  throw 
into  the  scale ;  and  when  it  comes  to  heaven  and  hell,  you 
know,  my  dear,  why,  one  cannot  be  too  careful." 

"  Well,  that  may  be  true  enough,"  said  Elsie,  —  "  though, 
as  to  my  sins,  I  have  tried  to  keep  them  regularly  squared 
up  and  balanced  as  I  went  along.  I  have  always  been  regu 
lar  at  confession,  and  never  failed  a  jot  or  tittle  in  what  the 
holy  father  told  me.  But  there  may  be  something  in  what 
you  say ;  one  can't  be  too  sure ;  and  so  I  '11  e'en  school  my 
old  bones  into  taking  this  tramp." 

That  evening,  as  Agnes  was  sitting  in  the  garden  at  sun 
set,  her  grandmother  bustling  in  and  out,  talking,  groaning, 
and  hurrying  in  her  preparations  for  the  anticipated  under 
taking,  suddenly  there  was  a  rustling  in  the  branches  over 
head,  and  a  bouquet  of  rose-buds  fell  at  her  feet.  Agnes 
picked  it  up,  and  saw  a  scrip  of  paper  coiled  among  the 
flowers.  In  a  moment  remembering  the  apparition  of  the 
cavalier  in  the  church  in  the  morning,  she  doubted  not  from 
whom  it  came.  So  dreadful  had  been  the  effect  of  the 
scene  at  the  confessional,  that  the  thought  of  the  near  pres 
ence  of  her  lover  brought  only  terror.  She  turned  pale; 


278  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

her  hands  shook.  She  shut  her  eyes,  and  prayed  that  she 
might  not  be  left  to  read  the  paper  ;  and  then,  summoning 
all  her  resolution,  she  threw  the  bouquet  with  force  over  the 
wall.  It  dropped  down,  down,  down  the  gloomy,  shadowy 
abyss,  and  was  lost  in  the  damp  caverns  below. 

The  cavalier  stood  without  the  wall,  waiting  for  some 
responsive  signal  in  reply  to  his  missive.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him  that  Agnes  would  not  even  read  it,  and  he 
stood  confounded  when  he  saw  it  thrown  back  with  such 
apparent  rudeness.  He  remembered  her  pale,  terrified  look 
on  seeing  him  in  the  morning.  It  was  not  indifference  or 
dislike,  but  mortal  fear,  that  had  been  shown  in  that  pale 
face. 

"  These  wretches  are  practising  on  her,"  he  said,  in  wrath, 

—  "  filling  her  head  with  frightful  images,  and  torturing  her 
sensitive  conscience  till  she  sees  sin  in  the  most  natural  and 
innocent  feelings." 

He  had  learned  from  Father  Antonio  the  intention  of 
Agnes  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage,  and  he  longed  to  see  and  talk 
with  her,  that  he  might  offer  her  his  protection  against  dan 
gers  which  he  understood  far  better  than  she.  It  had  never 
even  occurred  to  him  that  the  door  for  all  possible  communi 
cation  would  be  thus  suddenly  barred  in  his  face. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  darkening  brow, 

—  "  let  them  have  it  their  own  way  here.     She  must  pass 
through  my  dominions  before  she  can  reach  Rome,  and  I 
will  find  a  place  where  I  can  be  heard,  without  priest  or 
grandmother  to  let  or  hinder.     She  is  mine,  and  I  will  care 
for  her." 

But  poor  Agnes  had  the  woman's  share  of  the  misery  to 
bear,  in  the  fear  and  self-reproach  and  distress  which  every 
movement  of  this  kind  cost  her.  The  involuntary  thrill  at 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  279 

seeing  her  lover,  at  hearing  from  him,  the  conscious  struggle 
which  it  cost  her  to  throw  back  his  gift,  were  all  noted  by 
her  accusing  conscience  as  so  many  sins.  The  next  day  she 
sought  again  her  confessor,  and  began  an  entrance  on  those 
darker  and  more  chilly  paths  of  penance,  by  which,  accord 
ing  to  the  opinion  of  her  times,  the  peculiarly  elect  of  the 
Lord  were  supposed  to  be  best  trained.  *  Hitherto  her  relig 
ion  had  been  the  cheerful  and  natural  expression  of  her 
tender  and  devout  nature  according  to  the  more  beautiful 
and  engaging  devotional  forms  of  her  Church.  During  the 
year  when  her  confessor  had  been,  unconsciously  to  himself, 
led  by  her  instead  of  leading,  her  spiritual  food  had  been  its 
beautiful  old  hymns  and  prayers,  which  she  found  no  weari 
ness  in  often  repeating.  But  now  an  unnatural  conflict  was 
begun  in  her  mind,  directed  by  a  spiritual  guide  in  whom 
every  natural  and  normal  movement  of  the  soul  had  given 
way  before  a  succession  of  morbid  and  unhealthful  experi 
ences.  From  that  day  Agnes  wore  upon  her  heart  one  of 
those  sharp  instruments  of  torture  which  in  those  times 
were  supposed  to  be  a  means  of  inward  grace,  —  a  cross 
with  seven  steel  points  for  the  seven  sorrows  of  Mary.  She 
fasted  with  a  severity  which  alarmed  her  grandmother,  who 
in  her  inmost  heart  cursed  the  day  that  ever  she  had  placed 
her  in  the  way  of  saintship. 

UA11  this  will  just  end  in  spoiling  her  beauty,  —  making 
her  as  thin  as  a  shadow,"  —  said  Elsie  ;  "  and  she  was  good 
enough  before." 

But  it*  did  not  spoil  her  beauty,  —  it  only  changed  its 
character.  The  roundness  and  bloom  melted  away,  —  but 
there  came  in  their  stead  that  solemn,  transparent  clearness 
of  countenance,  that  spiritual  light  and  radiance,  which  the 
old  Florentine  painters  gave  to  their  Madonnas. 


280  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.. 

It  is  singular  how  all  religious  exercises  and  appliances 
take  the  character  of  the  nature  that  uses  them.  The  pain 
and  penance,  which  so  many  in  her  day  bore  as  a  cowardly 
expedient  for  averting  divine  wrath,  seemed,  as  she  viewed 
them,  a  humble  way  of  becoming  associated  in  the  sufferings 
of  her  Redeemer.  "Jesu  dulcis  memoria"  was  the  thought 
that  carried  a  redeeming  sweetness  with  every  pain.  Could 
she  thus,  by  suffering  with  her  Lord,  gain  power  like  Him  to 
save,  —  a  power  which  should  save  that  soul  so  dear  and  so 
endangered !  "  Ah,"  she  thought,  "  I  would  give  my  life- 
blood,  drop  by  drop,  if  only  it  might  avail  for  his  salva 
tion  ! " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  281 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FLORENCE  AND  HER  PROPHET. 

IT  was  drawing  towards  evening,  as  two  travellers,  ap 
proaching  Florence  from  the  south,  checked  their  course  on 
the  summit  of  one  of  the  circle  of  hills  which  command  a 
view  of  the  city,  and  seemed  to  look  down  upon  it  with  ad 
miration.  One  of  these  was  our  old  friend  Father  Antonio, 
and  the  other  the  cavalier.  The  former  was  mounted  on 
an  ambling  mule,  whose  easy  pace  suited  well  -with  his 
meditative  habits  ;  while  the  other  reined  in  a  high-mettled 
steed,  who,  though  now  somewhat  jaded  under  the  fatigue 
of  a  long  journey,  showed  by  a  series  of  little  lively  motions 
of  his  ears  and  tail,  and  by  pawing  the  ground  impatiently, 
that  he  had  the  inexhaustible  stock  of  spirits  which  goes 
with  good  blood. 

"  There  she  lies,  my  Florence,"  said  the  monk,  stretching 
his  hands  out  with  enthusiasm.  "  Is  she  not  indeed  a  shel 
tered  lily  growing  fair  among  the  hollows  of  the  mountains  ? 
Little  she  may  be,  Sir,  compared  to  old  Rome  ;  but  every 
inch  of  her  is  a  gem,  —  every  inch  ! " 

And,  in  truth,  the  scene  was  worthy  of  the  artist's  enthu 
siasm.  All  the  overhanging  hills  that  encircle  the  city  with 
their  silvery  olive-gardens  and  their  pearl-white  villas  were 
now  lighted  up  with  evening  glory.  The  old  gray  walls  of 
the  convents  of  San  Miniato  and  the  Monte  Oliveto  were 
touched  with  yellow ;  and  even  the  black  obelisks  of  the 
cypresses  in  their  cemeteries  had  here  and  there  streaks  and 


282  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

dots  of  gold,  fluttering  like  bright  birds  among  their  gloomy 
branches.  The  distant  snow-peaks  of  the  Apennines,  which 
even  in  spring  long  wear  their  icy  mantles,  were  shimmer 
ing  and  changing  like  an  opal  ring  with  tints  of  violet,  green, 
blue,  and  rose,  blended  in  inexpressible  softness  by  that 
dreamy  haze  which  forms  the  peculiar  feature  of  Italian 
skies. 

In  this  loving  embrace  of  mountains  lay  the  city",  divided 
by  the  Arno  as  by  a  line  of  rosy  crystal  barred  by  the  grace 
ful  arches  of  its  bridges.  Amid  the  crowd  of  palaces  and 
spires  and  towers  rose  central  and  conspicuous  the  great 
Duomo,  just  crowned  with  that  magnificent  dome  which  was 
then  considered  a  novelty  and  a  marvel  in  architecture,  and 
which  Michel  Angelo  looked  longingly  back  upon  when  he 
was  going  to  Rome  to  build  that  more  wondrous  orb  of  Saint 
Peter's.  White  and  stately  by  its  side  shot  up  the  airy 
shaft  of  the  Campanile ;  and  the  violet  vapor  swathing  the 
whole  city  in  a  tender  indistinctness,  these  two  striking 
objects,  rising  by  their  magnitude  far  above  it,  seemed  to 
stand  alone  in  a  sort  of  airy  grandeur. 

And  now  the  bells  of  the  churches  were  sounding  the  Ave 
Maria,  filling  the  air  with  sweet  and  solemn  vibrations,  as 
if  angels  were  passing  to  and  fro  over  head,  harping  as  they 
went ;  and  ever  and  anon  the  great  bell  of  the  Campanile 
came  pulsing  in  with  a  throb  of  sound  of  a  quality  so  differ 
ent  that  one  hushed  one's  breath  to  hear.  It  might  be  fan 
cied  to  be  the  voice  of  one  of  those  kingly  archangels  that 
one  sees  drawn  by  the  old  Florentine  religious  artists,  —  a 
voice  grave  and  unearthly,  and  with  a  plaintive  undertone 
of  divine  mystery. 

The  monk  and  the  cavalier  bent  low  in  their  saddles,  and 
seemed  to  join  devoutly  in  the  worship  of  the  hour. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  283 

One  need  not  wonder  at  the  enthusiasm  of  the  returning 
pilgrim  of  those  days  for  the  city  of  his  love,  who  feels  the 
charm  that  lingers  around  that  beautiful  place  even  in  mod 
ern  times.  Never  was  there  a  spot  to  which  the  heart  could 
insensibly  .grow  with  a  more  home-like  affection,  —  never 
one  more  thoroughly  consecrated  in  every  stone  by  the 
sacred  touch  of  genius. 

A  republic,  in  the  midst  of  contending  elements,  the  his 
tory  of  Florence,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  was  a  history  of  what 
shoots  and  blossoms  the  Italian  nature  might  send  forth, 
when  rooted  in  the  rich  soil  of  liberty.  It  was  a  city  of 
poets  and  artists.  Its  statesmen,  its  merchants,  its  common 
artisans,  and  the  very  monks  in  its  convents,  were  all  per 
vaded  by  one  spirit.  The  men  of  Florence  in  its  best  days 
were  men  of  a  large,  grave,  earnest  mould.  What  the  Pu 
ritans  of  New  England  wrought  out  with  severest  earnest 
ness  in  their  reasonings  and  their  lives  these  early  Puritans 
of  Italy  embodied  in  poetry,  sculpture,  and  painting.  They 
built  their  Cathedral  and  their  Campanile,  as  the  Jews  of 
old  built  their  Temple,  with  awe  and  religious  fear,  that  they 
might  thus  express  by  costly  and  imperishable  monuments 
their  sense  of  God's  majesty  and  beauty.  The  modern  trav 
eller  who  visits  the  churches  and  convents  of  Florence,  or 
the  museums  where  are  preserved  the  fading  remains  of  its 
early  religious  Art,  if  he  be  a  person  of  any  sensibility,  can 
not  fail  to  be  affected  with  the  intense  gravity  and  earnest 
ness  which  pervade  them.  They  seem  less  to  be  paintings 
for  the  embellishment  of  life  than  eloquent  picture-writing 
by  which  burning  religious  souls  sought  to  preach  the  truths 
of  the  invisible  world  to  the  eye  of  the  multitude.  Through 
all  the  deficiencies  of  perspective,  coloring,  and  outline  inci 
dent  to  the  childhood  and  early  youth  of  Art,  one  feels  the 


284  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

passionate  purpose  of  some  lofty  soul  to  express  ideas  cf 
patience,  self-sacrifice,  adoration,  and  aspiration  far  tran 
scending  the  limits  of  mortal  capability. 

The  angels  and  celestial  beings  of  these  grave  old  painters 
are  as  different  from  the  fat  little  pink  Cupids  or  lovely 
laughing  children  of  Titian  and  Correggio  as  are  the  ser 
mons  of  President  Edwards  from  the  love-songs  of  Tom 
Moore.  These  old  seers  of  the  pencil  give  you  grave,  radi 
ant  beings,  strong  as  man,  fine  as  woman,  sweeping  down 
ward  in  lines  of  floating  undulation,  and  seeming  by  the 
ease  with  which  they  remain  poised  in  the  air  to  feel  none 
of  that  earthly  attraction  which  draws  material  bodies  earth 
ward.  Whether  they  wear  the  morning  star  on  their  fore 
head,  or  bear  the  lily  or  the  sword  in  their  hand,  there  is 
still  that  suggestion  of  mystery  and  power  about  them,  that 
air  of  dignity  and  repose,  that  speak  the  children  of  a  nobler 
race  than  ours.  One  could  well  believe  such  a  being  might 
pass  in  his  serene  poised  majesty  of  motion  through  the 
walls  of  a  gross  material  dwelling  without  deranging  one 
graceful  fold  of  his  swaying  robe  or  unclasping  the  hands 
folded  quietly  on  his  bosom.  Well  has  a  modern  master  of 
art  and  style  said  of  these  old  artists,  "  Many  pictures  are 
ostentatious  exhibitions  of  the  artist's  power  of  speech,  the 
clear  and  vigorous  elocution  of  useless  and  senseless  words  ; 
while  the  earlier  efforts  of  Giotto  and  Cimabue  are  the  burn 
ing  messages  of  prophecy  delivered  by  the  stammering  lips 
of  infants." 

But  at  the  time  we  write,  Florence  had  passed  through 
her  ages  of  primitive  religious  and  republican  simplicity,  and 
was  fast^hastening  to  her  downfall.  The  genius,  energy,  and 
prophetic  enthusiasm  of  Savonarola  had  made,  it  is  true,  a 
desperate  rally  on  the  verge  of  the  precipice ;  but  no  one 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  285 

man  has  ever  power  to  turn  back  the  downward  slide  of  a 
whole  generation. 

When  Father  Antonio  left  Sorrento  in  company  with  the 
cavalier,  it  was  the  intention  of  the  latter  to  go  with  him 
only  so  far  as  their  respective  routes  should  lie  together. 
The  band  under  the  command  of  Agostino  was  posted  in  a 
ruined  fortress  in  one  of  those  airily  perched  old  mountain- 
towns  which  form  so  picturesque  and  characteristic  a  feature 
of  the  Italian  landscape.  But  before  they  reached  this  spot, 
the  simple,  poetic,  guileless  monk,  with  his  fresh  artistic  na 
ture,  had  so  won  upon  his  travelling  companion  that  a  most 
enthusiastic  friendship  had  sprung  up  between  them,  and 
Agostino  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  at  once  to  separate 
from  him.  Tempest-tossed  and  homeless,  burning  with  a 
sense  of  wrong,  alienated  from  the  faith  of  his  fathers 
through  his  intellect  and  moral  sense,  yet  clinging  to  it  with 
his  memory  and  imagination,  he  found  in  the  tender  devo 
tional  fervor  of  the  artist  monk  a  reconciling  and  healing 
power.  He  shared,  too,  in  no  small  degree,  the  feelings 
which  now  possessed  the  breast  of  his  companion  for  the 
great  reformer  whose  purpose  seemed  to  meditate  nothing 
less  than  the  restoration  of  the  Church  of  Italy  to  the  prim 
itive  apostolic  simplicity.  He  longed  to  see  him,  —  to  listen 
to  the  eloquence  of  which  he  had  heard  so  much.  Then,  too, 
he  had  thoughts  that  but  vaguely  shaped  themselves  in  his 
mind.  This  noble  man,  so  brave  and  courageous,  menaced 
by  the  forces  of  a  cruel  tyranny,  might  he  not  need  the  pro 
tection  of  a  good  sword  ?  He  recollected,  too,  that  he  had 
an  uncle  high  in  the  favor  of  the  King  of  France,  to  whom 
he  had  written  a  full  account  of  his  own  situation.  Might 
he  not  be  of  use  in  urging  this  uncle  to  induce  the  French 
King  to  throw  before  Savonarola  the  shield  of  his  protec- 


286  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

tion  ?  At  all  events,  he  entered  Florence  this  evening  with 
the  burning  zeal  of  a  young  neophyte  who  hopes  to  effect 
something  himself  for  a  glorious  and  sacred  cause  embodied 
in  a  leader  who  commands  his  deepest  veneration. 

"  My  son,"  said  Father  Antonio,  as  they  raised  their  heads 
after  the  evening  prayer,  "I  am  at  this  time  like  a  man 
who,  having  long  been  away  from  his  home,  fears,  on  re 
turning,  that  he  shall  hear  s"ome  evil  tidings  of  those  he  hath 
left.  I  long,  yet  dread,  to  go  to  my  dear  Father  Girolamo 
and  the  beloved  brothers  in  our  house.  There  is  a  presage 
that  lies  heavy  on  my  heart,  so  that  I  cannot  shake  it  off. 
Look  at  our  glorious  old  Duomo  ;  —  doth  she  not  sit  there 
among  the  houses  and  palaces  as  a  queen-mother  among 
nations,  —  worthy,  in  her  greatness  and  beauty,  to  represent 
the  Church  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  the  Bride  of  the  Lord  ? 
Ah,  I  have  seen  it  thronged  and  pressed  with  the  multitude 
who  came  to  crave  the  bread  of  life  from  our  master ! " 

"  Courage,  my  friend ! "  said  Agostino ;  "  it  cannot  be  that 
Florence  will  suffer  her  pride  and  glory  to  be  trodden  down. 
Let  us  hasten  on,  for  the  shades  of  evening  are  coming  fast, 
and  there  is  a  keen  wind  sweeping  down  from  your  snowy 
mountains." 

And  the  two  soon  found  themselves  plunging  into  the 
shadows  of  the  streets,  threading  their  devious  way  to  the 
convent. 

At  length  they  drew  up  before  a  dark  wall,  where  the 
Father  Antonio  rung  a  bell. 

A  door  was  immediately  opened,  a  cowled  head  appeared, 
and  a  cautious  voice  asked,  — 

«  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  Ah,  is  that  you,  good  Brother  Angelo  ? "  said  Father 
Antonio,  cheerily. 


AGNES  OF   SORRENTO.  287 

"  And  is  it  you,  dear  Brother  Antonio  ?  Come  in  !  come 
in ! "  was  the  cordial  response,  as  the  two  passed  into 
the  court ;  "  truly,  it  will  make  all  our  hearts  leap  to  see 
you." 

"  And,  Brother  Angelo,  how  is  our  dear  father  ?  I  have 
been  so  anxious  about  him ! " 

"Oh,  fear  not!  —  he  sustains  himself  in  God,  and  is  full 
of  sweetness  to  us  all." 

"  But  do  the  people  stand  by  him,  Angelo,  and  the  Signo- 
ria  ?  " 

"  He  has  strong  friends  as  yet,  but  his  enemies  are  like 
ravening  wolves.  The  Pope  hath  set  on  the  Franciscans, 
and  they  hunt  him  as  dogs  do  a  good  stag.  —  But  whom 
have  you  here  with  you  ?  "  added  the  monk,  raising  his  torch 
and  regarding  the  knight. 

"  Fear  him  not ;  he  is  a  brave  knight  and  good  Chris 
tian,  who  comes  to  offer  his  sword  to  our  father  and  seek  his 
counsels." 

"  He  shall  be  welcome,"  said  the  porter,  cheerfully.  "  We 
will  have  you  into  the  refectory  forthwith,  for  you  must  be 
hungry." 

The  young  cavalier,  following  the  flickering  torch  of  his 
conductor,  had  only  a  dim  notion  of  long  cloistered  corridors, 
out  of  which  now  and  then,  as  the  light  flared  by,  came  a 
golden  gleam  from  some  quaint  old  painting,  where  the  pure 
angel  forms  of  Angelico  stood  in  the  gravity  of  an  immortal 
youth,  or  the  Madonna,  like  a  bending  lily,  awaited  the  mes 
sage  of  Heaven  ;  but  when  they  entered  the  refectory,  a 
cheerful  voice  addressed  them,  and  Father  Antonio  was 
clasped  in  the  embrace  of  the  father  so  much  beloved. 

"  Welcome,  welcome,  my  dear  son ! "  said  that  rich  voice 
which  had  thrilled  so  many  thousand  Italian  hearts  with  its 


288  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

music.  "  So  you  are  come  back  to  the  fold  again.  How 
goes  the  good  work  of  the  Lord  ? " 

"  Well,  everywhere,"  said  Father  Antonio;  and  then,  rec 
ollecting  his  young  friend,  he  suddenly  turned  and  said,  — 

"  Let  me  present  to  you  one  son  who  comes  to  seek  your 
instructions,  —  the  young  Signer  Agostino,  of  the  noble  house 
of  Sarelli." 

The  Superior  turned  to  Agostino  with  a  movement  full  of 
a  generous  frankness,  and  warmly  extended  his  hand,  at  the 
same  time  fixing  upon  him  the  mesmeric  glance  of  a  pair 
of  large,  deep  blue  eyes,  which  might,  on  slight  observation, 
have  been  mistaken  for  black,  so  great  was  their  depth  and 
brilliancy. 

Agostino  surveyed  his  new  acquaintance  with  that  min 
gling  of  ingenuous  respect  and  curiosity  with  which  an 
ardent  young  man  would  regard  the  most  distinguished 
leader  of  his  age,  and  felt  drawn  to  him  by  a  certain  at 
mosphere  of  vital  cordiality  such  as  one  can  feel  better 
than  describe. 

"  You  have  ridden  far  to-day,  my  son,  —  you  must  be 
weary,"  said  the  Superior,  affably,  — "  but  here  you  must 
feel  yourself  at  home  ;  command  us  in  anything  we  can  do 
for  you.  The  brothers  will  attend  to  those  refreshments 
which  are  needed  after  so  long  a  journey ;  and  when  you 
have  rested  and  supped,  we  shall  hope  to  see  you  a  little 
more  quietly." 

So  saying,  he  signed  to  one  or  two  brothers  who  stood  by, 
and,  commending  the  travellers  to  their  care,  left  the  apart 
ment. 

In  a  few  moments  a  table  was  spread  with  a  plain  and 
wholesome  repast,  to  which  the  two  travellers  sat  down  with 
appetites  sharpened  by  their  long  journey. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.       •  289 

During  the  supper,  the  brothers  of  the  convent,  among 
whom  Father  Antonio  had  always  been  a  favorite,  crowded 
around  him  in  a  state  of  eager  excitement. 

"  You  should  have  been  here  the  last  week,"  said  one  ; 
"  such  a  turmoil  as  we  have  been  in  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  another,  —  "  the  Pope  hath  set  on  the  Fran 
ciscans,  who,  you  know,  are  always  ready  enough  to  take  up 
with  anything  against  our  order,  and  they  have  been  pur 
suing  our  father  like  so  many  hounds." 

"  There  hath  been  a  whirlwind  of  preaching  here  and 
there,"  said  a  third,  — "  in  the  Duomo,  and  Santa  Croce, 
and  San  Lorenzo  ;  and  they  have  battled  to  and  fro,  and 
all  the  city  is  full  of  it." 

"  Tell  him  about  yesterday,,  about  the  ordeal,"  shouted  an 
eager  voice. 

Two  or  three  voices  took  up  the  story  at  once,  and  began 
to  tell  it,  —  all  the  others  correcting,  contradicting,  or  adding 
incidents.  From  the  confused  fragments  here  and  there 
Agostino  gathered  that  there  had  been  on  the  day  before 
a  popular  spectacle  in  the  grand  piazza,  in  which,  according 
to  an  old  superstition  of  the  Middle  Ages,  Fra  Girolamo 
Savonarola  and  his  opponents  were  expected  to  prove  the 
truth  of  their  words  by  passing  unhurt  through  the  fire ;  that 
two  immense  piles  of  combustibles  had  been  constructed  with 
a  narrow  passage  between,  and  the  whole  magistracy  of  the 
city  convened,  with  a  throng  of  the  populace,  eager  for  the 
excitement  of  the  spectacle ;  that  the  day  had  been  spent 
in  discussions,  and  scruples,  and  preliminaries;  and  that, 
finally,  in.  the  afternoon,  a  violent  storm  of  rain  arising 
had  dispersed  the  multitude  and  put  a  stop  to  the  whole 
exhibition. 

"  But  the  people  are  not  satisfied,"  said  Father  Angelo ; 
13 


290  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

"and  there  are  enough  mischief-makers  among  them  to 
throw  all  the  blame  on  our  father." 

"  Yes,"  said  one,  "  they  say  he  wanted  to  burn  the  Holy 
Sacrament,  because  he  was  going  to  take  it  with  him  into 
the  fire." 

"  As  if  it  could  burn  ! "  said  another  voice. 

"It  would  to  all  human  appearance,  I  suppose,"  said  a 
third. 

"  Any  way,"  said  a  fourth,  "  there  is  some  mischief  brew 
ing;  for  here  is  our  friend  Prospero  Rondinelli  just  come 
in,  who  says,  when  he  came  past  the  Duomo,  he  saw  people 
gathering,  and  heard  them  threatening  us  :  there  were  as 
many  as  two  hundred,  he  thought." 

"  We  ought  to  tell  Father  Girolamo,"  exclaimed  several 
voices. 

"  Oh,  he  will  not  be  disturbed  ! "  said  Father  Angelo. 
"  Since  these  affairs,  he  hath  been  in  prayer  in  the  chap 
ter-room  before  the  blessed  Angelico's  picture  of  the  Cross. 
When  we  would  talk  with  him  of  these  things,  he  waves  us 
away,  and  says  only,  '  I  am  weary ;  go  and  tell  Jesus.'  " 

"  He  bade  me  come  to  him  after  supper,"  said  Father 
Antonio.  "  I  will  talk  with  him." 

"  Do  so,  —  that  is  right,"  said  two  or  three  eager  voices, 
as  the  monk  and  Agostino,  having  finished  their  repast,  arose 
to  be  conducted  to  the  presence  of  the  father. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  291 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  ATTACK    ON    SAN   MARCO. 

THEY  found  him  in  a  large  and  dimly  lighted  apartment, 
sitting  absorbed  in  pensive  contemplation  before  a  picture  of 
the  Crucifixion  by  Fra  Angelico,  which,  whatever  might  be 
its  naive  faults  of  drawing  and  perspective,  had  an  intense 
earnestness  of  feeling,  and,  though  faded  and  dimmed  by  the 
lapse  of  centuries,  still  stirs  in  some  faint  wise  even  the  prac 
tised  dilettanti  of  our  day. 

The  face  upon  the  cross,  with  its  majestic  patience,  seemed 
to  shed  a  blessing  down  on  the  company  of  saints  of  all  ages 
who  were  grouped  by  their  representative  men  at  the  foot. 
Saint  Dominic,  Saint  Ambrose,  Saint  Augustin,  Saint  Je 
rome,  Saint  Francis,  and  Saint  Benedict  were  depicted  as 
standing  before  the  Great  Sacrifice  in  company  with  the 
Twelve  Apostles,  the  two  Maries,  and  the  fainting  mother 
of  Jesus, — thus  expressing  the  unity  of  the  Church  Uni 
versal  in  that  great  victory  of  sorrow  and  glory.  The  paint 
ing  was  enclosed  above  by  a  semicircular  bordering  composed 
of  medallion  heads  of  the  Prophets,  and  below  was  a  similar 
medallion  border  of  the  principal  saints  and  worthies  of  the 
Dominican  order.  In  our  day  such  pictures  are  visited  by 
tourists  with  red  guide-books  in  their  hands,  who  survey 
them  in  the  intervals  of  careless  conversation ;  but  they 
were  painted  by  the  simple  artist  on  his  knees,  weeping  and 
praying  as  he  worked,  and  the  sight  of  them  was  accepted 
by  like  simple-hearted  Christians  as  a  perpetual  sacrament 
of  the  eye,  by  which  they  received  Christ  into  their  souls. 


292  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 

So  absorbed  was  the  father  in  the  contemplation  of  this 
picture,  that  he  did  not  hear  the  approaching  footsteps  of  the 
knight  and  monk.  When  at  last  they  came  so  near  as 
almost  to  touch  him,  he  suddenly  looked  up,  and  it  became 
apparent  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

He  rose,  and,  pointing  with  a  mute  gesture  toward  the 
painting,  said, — 

"  There  is  more  in  that  than  in  all  Michel  Angelo  Buona- 
rotti  hath  done  yet,  though  he  be  a  God-fearing  youth,  — 
more  than  in  all  the  heathen  marbles  in  Lorenzo's  gardens. 
But  sit  down  with  me  here.  I  have  to  come  here  often, 
where  I  can  refresh  my  courage." 

The  monk  and  knight  seated  themselves,  the  latter  with 
his  attention  riveted  on  the  remarkable  man  before  him. 
The  head  and  face  of  Savonarola  are  familiar  to  us  by" 
many  paintings  and  medallions,  which,  however,  fail  to 
impart  what  must  have  been  that  effect  of  his  personal 
presence  which  so  drew  all  hearts  to  him  in  his  day. 
The  knight  saw  a  man  of  middle  age,  of  elastic,  well-knit 
figure,  and  a  flexibility  and  grace  of  motion  which  seemed 
to  make  every  nerve,  even  to  his  finger-ends,  vital  with  the 
expression  of  his  soul.  The  close-shaven  crown  and  the 
plain  white  Dominican  robe  gave  a  severe  and  statuesque 
simplicity  to  the  lines  of  his  figure.  His  head  and  face,  like 
those  of  most  of  the  men  of  genius  whom  modern  Italy  has 
produced,  were  so  strongly  cast  in  the  antique  mould  as  to 
leave  no  doubt  of  the  identity  of  modern  Italian  blood  with 
that  of  the  great  men  of  ancient  Italy.  His  low,  broad 
forehead,  prominent  Roman  nose,  well-cut,  yet  fully  out 
lined  lips,  and  strong,  finely  moulded  jaw  and  chin,  all 
spoke  the  old  Roman  vigor  and  energy,  while  the  flexible 
delicacy  of  all  the  muscles  of  his  face  and  figure  gave  an 


AGNES   OF   SORRENTO.  293 

inexpressible  fascination  to  his  appearance.  Every  emotion 
and  changing  thought  seemed  to  flutter  and  tremble  over  his 
countenance  as  the  shadow  of  leaves  over  sunny  water.  His 
eye  had  a  wonderful  dilating  power,  and  when  he  was  ex 
cited  seemed  to  shower  sparks  ;  and  his  voice  possessed  a 
surprising  scale  of  delicate  and  melodious  inflections,  which 
could  take  him  in  a  moment  through  the  whole  range  of 
human  feeling,  whether  playful  and  tender  or  denunciatory 
and  terrible.  Yet,  when  in  repose  among  his  friends,  there 
was  an  almost  childlike  simplicity  and  artlessness  of  man 
ner  which  drew  the  heart  by  an  irresistible  attraction. 
At  this  moment  it  was  easy  to  see  by  his  pale  cheek  and 
the  furrowed  lines  of  his  face  that  he  had  been  pass 
ing  through  severe  struggles;  but  his  mind  seemed  stayed 
on  some  invisible  centre,  in  a  solemn  and  mournful 
calm. 

"  Come,  tell  me  something  of  the  good  works  of  the  Lord 
in  our  Italy,  brother,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  which  was  al 
most  playful  in  its  brightness.  "  You  have  been  through 
all  the  lowly  places  of  the  land,  carrying  our  Lord's  bread 
to  the  poor,  and  repairing  and  beautifying  shrines  and  altars 
by  the  noble  gift  that  is  in  you." 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  the  monk  ;  "  and  I  have  found  that 
there  are  many  sheep  of  the  Lord  that  feed  quietly  among 
the  mountains  of  Italy,  and  love  nothing  so  much  as  to 
hear  of  the  dear  Shepherd  who  laid  down  His  life  for 
them." 

"  Even  so,  even  so,"  said  the  Superior,  with  animation  ; 
"  and  it  is  the  thought  of  these  sweet  hearts  that  comforts 
me  when  my  soul  is  among  lions.  The  foundation  stand- 
eth  sure, — the  Lord  knoweth  them  that  are  His." 

"And  it  is  good  and  encouraging,"  said  Father  Antonio, 


294  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  to  see  the  zeal  of  the  poor,  who  will  give  their  last  penny 
for  the  altar  of  the  Lord,  and  who  flock  so  to  hear  the  word 
and  take  the  sacraments.  I  have  had  precious  seasons  of 
preaching  and  confessing,  and  have  worked  in  blessedness 
many  days  restoring  and  beautifying  the  holy  pictures 
and  statues  whereby  these  little  ones  have  been  comforted. 
What  with  the  wranglings  of  princes  and  the  factions  and 
disturbances  in  our  poor  Italy,  there  be  many  who  suffer  in 
want  and  loss  of  all  things,  so  that  no  refuge  remains  to 
them  but  the  altars  of  our  Jesus,  and  none  cares  for  them 
but  He." 

"  Brother,"  said  the  Superior,  "  there  be  thousands  of 
flowers  fairer  than  man  ever  saw  that  grow  up  in  waste 
places  and  in  deep  dells  and  shades  of  mountains  ;  but  God 
bears  each  one  in  His  heart,  and  delighteth  Himself  in 
silence  with  them  :  and  so  doth  He  with  these  poor,  sim 
ple,  unknown  souls.  The  True  Church  is  not  a  flaunting 
queen  who  goes  boldly  forth  among  men  displaying  her 
beauties,  but  a  veiled  bride,  a  dove  that  is  in  the  cleft  of 
the  rocks,  whose  voice  is  known  only  to  the  Beloved.  Ah  ! 
when  shall  the  great  marriage-feast  come,  when  all  shall 
behold  her  glorified  ?  I  had  hoped  to  see  the  day  here  in 
Italy  :  but  now  " 

The  father  stopped,  and  seemed  to  lapse  into  unconscious 
musing,  —  his  large  eye  growing  fixed  and  mysterious  in  its 
expression. 

"  The  brothers  have  been  telling  me  somewhat  of  the 
tribulations  you  have  been  through,"  said  Father  Antonio, 
who  thought  he  saw  a  good  opening  to  introduce  the  subject 
nearest  his  heart. 

"  No  more  of  that !  — no  more  !  "  said  the  Superior,  turn 
ing  away  his  head  with  an  expression  of  pain  and  weariness; 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  295 

"  rather  let  us  look  up.  What  think  you,  brother,  are  all 
these  doing  now  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  to  the  saints  in  the  pic 
ture.  "  They  are  all  alive  and  well,  and  see  clearly  through 
our  darkness."  Then,  rising  up,  he  added,  solemnly, "  What 
ever  man  may  say  or  do,  it  is  enough  for  me  to  feel  that  my 
dearest  Lord  and  His  blessed  Mother  and  all  the  holy  arch 
angels,  the  martyrs  and  prophets  and  apostles,  are  with  me. 
The  end  is  coming." 

"  But,  dearest  father,"  said  Antonio,  "  think  you  the  Lord 
will  suffer  the  wicked  to  prevail  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  for  a  time,"  said  Savonarola.  "  As  for  me,  I 
am  in  His  hands  only  as  an  instrument.  He  is  master  of 
the  forge  and  handles  the  hammer,  and  when  He  has  done 
using  it  He  casts  it  from  Him.  Thus  He  did  with  Jeremiah, 
whom  He  permitted  to  be  stoned  to  death  when  his  preach 
ing  mission  was  accomplished ;  and  thus  He  may  do  with 
this  hammer  when  He  has  done  using  it." 

At  this  moment  a  monk  rushed  into  the  room  with  a  face 
expressive  of  the  utmost  terror,  and  called  out,  — 

"  Father,  what  shall  we  do  ?  The  mob  are  surrounding 
the  convent !  Hark  !  hear  them  at  the  doors  ! " 

In  truth,  a  wild,  confused  roar  of  mingled  shrieks,  cries, 
and  blows  came  in  through  the  open  door  of  the  apartment ; 
and  the  pattering  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  was  heard 
like  showering  rain-drops  along  the  cloisters. 

"  Here  come  Messer  Nicolo  de'  Lapi,  and  Francesco  Va- 
lori ! "  called  out  a  voice. 

The  room  was  soon  filled  with  a  confused  crowd,  consist 
ing  of  distinguished  Florentine  citizens,  who  had  gained 
admittance  through  a  secret  passage,  and  the  excited  nov 
ices  and  monks. 

"The  streets  outside  the  convent  are  packed  close  with 


296  AGNES   OF  SOERENTO. 

men,"  cried  one  of  the  citizens  ;  "  they  have  stationed 
guards  everywhere  to  cut  off  our  friends  who  might  come 
to  help  us." 

"  I  saw  them  seize  a  young  man  who  was  quietly  walk 
ing,  singing  psalms,  and  slay  him  on  the  steps  of  the  Church 
of  the  Innocents,"  said  another  ;  "  they  cried  and  hooted, 
'  No  more  psalm-singing  ! ' ' 

"  And  there  's  Arnolfo  Battista,"  said  a  third  ; — "he  went 
out  to  try  to  speak  to  them,  and  they  have  killed  him,  —  cut 
him  down  with  thair  sabres." 

"  Hurry  !  hurry !  barricade  the  door  !  arm  yourselves  !  " 
was  the  cry  from  other  voices. 

"  Shall  we  fight,  father  ?  shall  we  defend  ourselves  ? " 
cried  others,  as  the  monks  pressed  around  their  Supe 
rior. 

When  the  crowd  first  burst  into  the  room,  the  face  of  the 
Superior  flushed,  and  there  was  a  slight  movement  of  sur 
prise  ;  then  he  seemed  to  recollect  himself,  and  murmuring, 
"  I  expected  this,  but  not  so  soon,"  appeared  lost  in  mental 
prayer.  To  the  agitated  inquiries  of  his  flock,  he  answered, 
—  "No,  brothers;  the  weapons  of  monks  must  be  spiritual, 
not  carnal."  Then  lifting  on  high  a  crucifix,  he  said, — 
"  Come  with  me,  and  let  us  walk  in  solemn  procession  to 
the  altar,  singing  the  praises  of  our  God." 

The  monks,  with  the  instinctive  habit  of  obedience,  fell 
i»to  procession  behind  their  leader,  whose  voice,  clear  and 
strong,  was  heard  raising  the  Psalm,  "  Quare  fremunt 
gentes  "  :  — 

"  Why  do  the  heathen  rage,  and  the  people  imagine  a 
vain  thing  ? 

"  The  kings  of  the  earth  set  themselves,  and  the  rulers 
take  counsel  together,  against  the  Lord,  and  against  his 
Anointed,  saying, — 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  297 

"  '  Let  us  break  their  bands  asunder,  and  cast  away  their 
cords  from  us.' 

"  He  that  sitteth  in  the  heavens  shall  laugh :  the  Lord 
shall  have  them  in  derision." 

As  one  voice  after  another  took  up  the  chant,  the  solemn 
enthusiasm  rose  and  deepened,  and  all  present,  whether  ec 
clesiastics  or  laymen,  fell  into  the  procession  and  joined  in 
the  anthem.  Amid  the  wild  uproar,  the  din  and  clatter  of 
axes,  the  thunders  of  heavy  battering-implements  on  the 
stone  walls  and  portals,  came  this  long-drawn  solemn  wave 
of  sound,  rising  and  falling,  —  now  drowned  in  the  savage 
clamors  of  the  mob,  and  now  bursting  out  clear  and  full  like 
the  voices  of  God's  chosen  amid  the  confusion  and  struggles 
of  all  the  generations  of  this  mortal  life. 

White-robed  and  grand  the  procession  moved  on,  while 
the  pictured  saints  and  angels  on  the  walls  seemed  to  smile 
calmly  down  upon  them  from  a  golden  twilight.  They 
passed  thus  into  the  sacristy,  where  with  all  solemnity  and 
composure  they  arrayed  their  Father  and  Superior  for  the 
last  time  in  his  sacramental  robes,  and  then,  still  chanting, 
followed  him  to  the  high  altar,  where  all  bowed  in  prayer. 
And  still,  whenever  there  was  a  pause  in  the  stormy  uproar 
and  fiendish  clamor,  might  be  heard  the  clear,  plaintive 
uprising  of  that  strange  singing,  —  "  O  Lord,  save  thy  peo 
ple,  and  bless  thine  heritage  ! " 

It  needs  not  to  tell  in  detail  what  history  has  told  of  that 
tragic  night :  how  the  doors  at  last  were  forced,  and  the 
mob  rushed  in  ;  how  citizens  and  friends,  and  many  of  the 
monks  themselves,  their  instinct  of  combativeness  overcom 
ing  their  spiritual  beliefs,  fought  valiantly,  and  used  torches 
and  crucifixes  for  purposes  little  contemplated  when  they 
were  made. 


298  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

Fiercest  among  the  combatants  was  Agostino,  who  three 
times  drove  back  the  crowd  as  they  were  approaching  the 
choir,  where  Savonarola  and  his  immediate  friends  were  still 
praying.  Father  Antonio,  too,  seized  a  sword  from  the 
hand  of  a  fallen  man  and  laid  about  him  with  an  impetuosity 
which  would  be  inexplicable  to  any  .who  do  not  know  what 
force  there  is  in  gentle  natures  when  the  objects  of  their 
affections  are  assailed.  The  artist  monk  fought  for  his  mas 
ter  with  the  blind  desperation  with  which'  a  woman  fights 
over  the  cradle  of  her  child. 

All  in  vain!  Past  midnight,  and  the  news  comes  that 
artillery  is  planted  to  blow  down  the  walls  of  the  convent, 
and  the  magistracy,  who  up  to  this  time  have  lifted  not  a 
finger  to  repress  the  tumult,  send  word  to  Savonarola  to 
surrender  himself  to  them,  together  with  the  two  most  active 
of  his  companions,  Fra  Domenico  da  Pescia  and  Fra  Silves- 
tro  Maruffi,  as  the  only  means  of  averting  the  destruction  of 
the  whole  order.  They  offer  him  assurances  of  protection  and 
safe  return,  which  he  does  not  in  the  least  believe :  neverthe 
less,  he  feels  that  his  hour  is  come,  and  gives  himself  up. 

His  preparations  were  all  made  with  a  solemn  method 
which  showed  that  he  felt  he  was  approaching  the  last  act  in 
the  drama  of  life.  He  called  together  his  flock,  scattered 
and  forlorn,  and  gave  them  his  last  words  of  fatherly  advice, 
encouragement,  and  comfort,  —  ending  with  the  remarkable 
declaration,  "  A  Christian's  life  consists  in  doing  good  and 
suffering  evil."  "  I  go  with  joy  to  this  marriage-supper," 
he  said,  as  he  left  the  church  for  the  last  sad  preparations. 
He  and  his  doomed  friends  then  confessed  and  received  the 
sacrament,  and  after  that  he  surrendered  himself  into  the 
hands  of  the  men  who  he  felt  in  his  prophetic  soul  had  come 
to  take  him  to  torture  and  to  death. 


AGNES  <JF  SORRENTO.  299 

As  he  gave  himself  into  their  hands,  he  said,  "  I  commend 
to  your  care  this  flock  of  mine,  and  these  good  citizens  of 
Florence  who  have  been  with  us ; "  and  then  once  more 
turning  to  his  brethren,  said,  —  "Doubt  not,  my  brethren. 
God  will  not  fail  to  perfect  His  work.  Whether  I  live  or 
die,  He  will  aid  and  console  you." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  struggle  with  the  attendants 
in  the  outer  circle  of  the  crowd,  and  the  voice  of  Father 
Antonio  was  heard  crying  out  earnestly,  —  "  Do  not  hold 
rne  !  I  will  go  with  him  !  I  must  go  with  him  !  "  —  "  Son," 
said  Savonarola,  "  I  charge  you  on*  your  obedience  not  to 
come.  It  is  I  and  Fra  Domenico  who  are  to  die  for  the 
love  of  Christ."  And  thus,  at  the  ninth  hour  of  the  night, 
he  passed  the  threshold  of  San  Marco. 

As  he  was  leaving,  a  plaintive  voice  of  distress  was  heard 
from  .a  young  novice  who  had  been  peculiarly  dear  to  him, 
who  stretched  his  hands  after  him,  crying,  —  "  Father ! 
father !  why  do  you  leave  us  desolate  ? K  Whereupon  he 
turned  back  a  moment,  and  said, — "  God  will  be  your  help. 
If  we  do  not  see  each  other  again  in  this  world,  we  surely 
shall  in  heaven." 

When  the  party  had  gone  forth,  the  monks  and  citizens 
stood  looking  into  each  other's  faces,  listening  with  dismay  to 
the  howl  of  wild  ferocity  that  was  rising  around  the  depart 
ing  prisoner. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  was  the  outcry  from  many 
voices. 

"  I  know  what  I  shall  do,"  said  Agostino.  "  If  any  man 
here  will  find  me  a  fleet  horse,  I  will  start  for  Milan  this 
very  hour ;  for  my  uncle  is  now  there  on  a  visit,  and  he  is  a 
counsellor  of  weight  with  the  King  of  France  :  we  must  get 
the  King  to  interfere." 


300  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Good !  good  !  good  !  "  rose  from  a  hundred  voices. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Father  Antonio.  "  I  shall 
have  no  rest  till  I  do  something." 

"  And  I,"  quoth  Jacopo  Niccolini,  "  will  saddle  for  you, 
without  delay,  two  horses  of  part  Arabian  blood,  swift  of 
foot,  and  easy,  and  which  will  travel  day  and  night  without 
sinking." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  301 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    CATHEDBAL. 

THE  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  imparting  even  more 
than  their  wonted  cheerfulness  to  the  airy  and  bustling 
streets  of  Milan.  There  was  the  usual  rush  and  roar  of  busy 
life  which  mark  the  great  city,  and  the  display  of  gay  cos 
tumes  and  brilliant  trappings  proper  to  a  ducal  capital  which 
at  that  time  gave  the  law  to  Europe  in  all  matters  of  taste 
and  elegance,  even  as  Paris  does  now.  It  was,  in  fact,  from 
the  reputation  of  this  city  in  matters  of  external  show  that 
our  English  term  Milliner  was  probably  derived  ;  and  one 
might  well  have  believed  this,  who  saw  the  sweep  of  the 
ducal  cortege  at  this  moment  returning  in  pomp  from  the 
afternoon  airing.  Such  glittering  of  gold-embroidered  man 
tles,  such  bewildering  confusion  of  colors,  such  flashing  of 
jewelry  from  cap  and  dagger-hilt  and  finger-ring,  and  even 
from  bridle  and  stirrup,  testified  that  the  male  sex  at  this 
period  in  Italy  were  no  whit  behind  the  daughters  of  Eve  in 
that  passion  for  personal  adornment  which  our  age  is  wont  to 
consider  exclusively  feminine.  Indeed,  all  that  was  visible 
to  the  vulgar  eye  of  this  pageant  was  wholly  masculine  ; 
though  no  one  doubted  that  behind  the  gold-embroidered 
curtains  of  the  litters  which  contained  the  female  notabilities 
of  the  court  still  more  dazzling  wonders  might  be  concealed. 
Occasionally  a  white  jewelled  hand  would  draw  aside  one 
of  these  screens,  and  a  pair  of  eyes  brighter  than  any  gems 


302  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

would  peer  forth  ;  and  then  there  would  be  tokens  of  a  visi 
ble  commotion  among  the  plumed  and  gemmed  cavaliers 
around,  and  one  young  head  would  nod  to  another  with  jests 
and  quips,  and  there  would  be  bowing  and  curveting  and  all 
the  antics  and  caracolings  supposable  among  gay  young 
people  on  whom  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  who  felt  the 
world  going  well  around  them,  and  deemed  themselves  the 
observed  of  all  observers. 

Meanwhile,  the  mute,  subservient  common  people  looked 
on  all  this  as  a  part  of  their  daily  amusement.  Meek  dwell 
ers  in  those  dank,  noisome  caverns,  without  any  opening  but 
a  street-door,  which  are  called  dwelling-places  in  Italy,  they 
lived  in  uninquiring  good-nature,  contentedly  bringing  up 
children  on  coarse  bread,  dirty  cabbage-stumps,  and  other 
garbage,  while  all  that  they  could  earn  was  sucked  upward 
by  capillary  attraction  to  nourish  the  extravagance  of  those 
upper  classes  on  which  they  stared  with  such  blind  and  igno 
rant  admiration. 

This  was  the  lot  they  believed  themselves  born  for,  and 
which  every  exhortation  of  their  priests  taught  them  to 
regard  as  the  appointed  ordinance  of  God.  The  women,  to 
be  sure,  as  women  always  will  be,  were  true  to  the  instinct 
of  their  sex,  and  crawled  out  of  the  damp  and  vile-smelling 
recesses  of  their  homes  with  solid  gold  ear-rings  shaking  in 
their  ears,  and  their  blue-black  lustrous  hair  ornamented  with 
a  glittering  circle  of  steel  pins  or  other  quaint  coiffure. 
There  was  sense  in  all  this :  for  had  not  even  Dukes  of 
Milan  been  found  so  condescending  and  affable  as  to  admire 
the  charms  of  the  fair  in  the  lower  orders,  whence  had  come 
sons  and  daughters  who  took  rank  among  princes  and  prin 
cesses  ?  What  father,  or  what  husband,  could  be  insensible 
to  prospects  of  such  honor  ?  What  priest  would  not  readily 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  303 

absolve  such  sin  ?  Therefore  one  might  have  observed  more 
than  one  comely  dark-eyed  woman,  brilliant  as  some  tropical 
bird  in  the  colors  of  her  peasant  dress,  who  cast  coquettish 
glances  toward  high  places,  not  unacknowledged  by  patroniz 
ing  nods  in  return,  while  mothers  and  fathers  looked  on  in 
triumph.  These  were  the  days  for  the  upper  classes  :  the 
Church  bore  them  all  in  her  bosom  as  a  tender  nursing- 
mother,  and  provided  for  all  their  little  peccadilloes  with 
even  grandmotherly  indulgence,  and  in  return  the  world  was 
immensely  deferential  towards  the  Church ;  and  it  was 
only  now  and  then  some  rugged  John  Baptist,  in  raiment  of 
camel's  hair,  like  Savonarola,  who  dared  to  speak  an  indeco 
rous  word  of  God's  truth  in  the  ear  of  power,  and  Herod 
and  Herodias  had  ever  at  hand  the  good  old  recipe  for  quiet 
ing  such  disturbances.  John  Baptist  was  beheaded  in  prison, 
and  then  all  the  world  and  all  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees 
applauded ;  and  only  a  few  poor  disciples  were  found  to  take 
up  the  body  and  go  and  tell  Jesus. 

The  whole  piazza  around  the  great  Cathedral  is  at  this 
moment  full  of  the  dashing  cavalcade  of  the  ducal  court, 
looking  as  brilliant  in  the  evening  light  as  a  field  of  poppy, 
corn-flower,  and  scarlet  clover  at  Sorrento ;  and  there,  amid 
the  flutter  and  rush,  the  amours  and  intrigues,  the  court 
scandal,  the  laughing,  the  gibing,  the  glitter,  and  dazzle, 
stands  that  wonderful  Cathedral,  that  silent  witness,  that 
strange,  pure,  immaculate  mountain  of  airy,  unearthly  love 
liness,  —  the  most  striking  emblem  of  God's  mingled  vast- 
ness  and  sweetness  that  ever  it  was  given  to  human  heart 
to  devise  or  hands  to  execute.  If  there  be  among  the  many 
mansions  of  our  Father  above,  among  the  houses  not  made 
with  hands,  aught  purer  and  fairer,  it  must  be  the  work  of 
those  grand  spirits  who  inspired  and  presided  over  the 


304  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

tion  of  this  celestial  miracle  of  .beauty.  In  the  great,  vain, 
wicked  city,  all  alive  with  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  the  lust  of 
the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life,  it  seemed  to  stand  as  much 
apart  and  alone  as  if  it  were  in  the  solemn  desolation  of  the 
Campagna,  or  in  one  of  the  wide  deserts  of  Africa,  —  so 
little  part  or  lot  did  it  appear  to  have  in  anything  earthly, 
so  little  to  belong  to  the  struggling,  bustling  crowd  who 
beneath  its  white  dazzling  pinnacles  seemed  dwarfed  into 
crawling  insects.  They  who  could  look  up  from  the  dizzy, 
frivolous  life  below  saw  far,  far  above  them,  in  the  blue 
Italian  air,  thousands  of  glorified  saints  standing  on  a  thou 
sand  airy  points  of  brilliant  whiteness,  ever  solemnly  ador 
ing.  The  marble  which  below  was  somewhat  touched  and 
soiled  with  the  dust  of  the  street  seemed  gradually  to  refine 
and  brighten  as  it  rose  into  the  pure  regions  of  the  air,  till 
at  last  in  those  thousand  distant  pinnacles  it  had  the  ethe 
real  translucence  of  wintry  frost-work,  and  now  began  to 
glow  with  the  violet  and  rose  hues  of  evening,  in  solemn 
splendor. 

The  ducal  cortege  sweeps  by ;  but  we  have  mounted  the 
dizzy,  dark  staircase  that  leads  to  the  roof,  where,  amid  the 
bustling  life  of  the  city,  there  is  a  promenade  of  still  and 
wondrous  solitude.  One  seems  to  have  ascended  in  those 
few  moments  far  beyond  the  tumult  and  dust  of  earth 
ly  things,  to  the  silence,  the  clearness,  the  tranquillity  of 
ethereal  regions.  The  noise  of  the  rushing  tides  of  life 
below  rises  only  in  a  soft  and  distant  murmur ;  while 
around,  in  the  wide,  clear  distance,  is  spread  a  prospect 
which  has  not  on  earth  its  like  or  its  equal.  The  beauti 
ful  plains  of  Lombardy  lie  beneath  like  a  map,  and  the 
northern  horizon-line  is  glittering  with  the  entire  sweep 
of  the  Alps,  l;ke  a  solemn  senate  of  archangels  with  dia- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  305 

mond  mail  and  glittering  crowns.  Mont  Blanc,  Monte 
Rosa  with  its  countenance  of  light,  the  Jungfrau  and  all 
the  weird  brothers  of  the  Oberland,  rise  one  after  another 
to  the  delighted  gaze,  and  the  range  of  the  Tyrol  melts 
far  off  into  the  blue  of  the  sky.  On  another  side,  the 
Apennines,  with  their  picturesque  outlines  and  cloud-spot 
ted  sides,  complete  the  enclosure.  All  around,  wherever  the 
eye  turns,  is  the  unbroken  phalanx  of  mountains ;  and  this 
temple,  with  its  thousand  saintly  statues  standing  in  attitudes 
of  ecstasy  and  prayer,  seems  like  a  worthy  altar  and  shrine 
for  the  beautiful  plain  which  the  mountains  enclose  :  it  seems 
to  give  all  Northern  Italy  to  God. 

The  effect  of  the  statues  in  this  high,  pure  air,  in  this 
solemn,  glorious  scenery,  is  peculiar.  They  seem  a  meet 
companionship  for  these  exalted  regions.  They  seem  to 
stand  exultant  on  their  spires,  poised  lightly  as  ethereal 
creatures,  the  fit  inhabitants  of  the  pure  blue  sky.  One 
feels  that  they  have  done  with  earth  ;  one  can  fancy  tfcem 
a  band  of  white-robed  kings  and  priests  forever  ministering 
in  that  great  temple  of  which  the  Alps  and  the  Apennines 
are  the  walls  and  the  Cathedral  the  heart  and  centre. 
Never  were  Art  and  Nature  so  majestically  married  by 
Religion  in  so  worthy  a  temple. 

One  form  could  be  discerned  standing  in  rapt  attention, 
gazing  from  a  platform  on  the  roof  upon  the  far-distant 
scene.  He  was  enveloped  in  the  white  coarse  woollen  gown 
of  the  Dominican  monks,  and  seemed  wholly  absorbed  in 
meditating  on  the  scene  before  him,  which  appeared  to  move 
him  deeply;  for, raising  his  hands,  he  repeated  aloud  from  the 
Latin  Vulgate  the  words  of  an  Apostle  :  — 

"  Accessistis  ad  Sion  montem  et  civitatem  Dei  viventis, 
lerusalem  caelestem,  et  multorum  millium  angelorum  fre- 


306  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

quentiam,  ecclesiara  primitivorum,  qui  inscripti  sunt  in 
cselis." l 

At  this  moment  the  evening  worship  commenced  within 
the  Cathedral,  and  the  whole  building  seemed  to  vibrate 
with  the  rising  swell  of  the  great  organ,  while  the  grave, 
long-drawn  tones  of  the  Ambrosian  Liturgy  rose  surging  in 
waves  and  dying  away  in  distant  murmurs,  like  the  rolling 
of  the  tide  on  some  ocean-shore.  The  monk  turned  and 
drew  near  to  the  central  part  of  the  roof  to  listen,  and  as  he 
turned  he  disclosed  the  well-known  features  of  Father  Antonio. 

Haggard,  we.ary,  and  travel-worn,  his  first  impulse,  on  en 
tering  the  city,  was  to  fly  to  this  holy  solitude,  as  the  wan 
dering  sparrow  of  sacred  song  sought  her  nest  amid  the 
altars  of  God's  temple.  Artist  no  less  than  monk,  he  found 
in  this  wondrous  shrine  of  beauty  a  repose  both  for  his 
artistic  and  his  religious  nature;  and  while  waiting  for 
Agostino  Sarelli  to  find  his  uncle's  residence,  he  had  deter 
mined  to  pass  the  interval  in  this  holy  solitude.  Many 
hours  had  he  paced  alone  up  and  down  the  long  promenades 
of  white  marble  which  run  everywhere  between  forests  of  daz 
zling  pinnacles  and  flying  buttresses  of  airy  lightness.  Now 
he  rested  in  fixed  attention  against  the  wall  above  the  choir, 
which  he  could  feel  pulsating  with  throbs  of  sacred  sound,  as 
if  a  great  warm  heart  were  beating  within  the  fair  marble 
miracle,  warming  it  into  mysterious  life  and  sympathy. 

"  I  would  now  that  boy  were  here  to  worship  with  me," 
he  said.  "  No  wonder  the  child's  faith  fainteth  :  it  takes 
such  monuments  as  these  of  the  Church's  former  days  to 
strengthen  one's  hopes.  Ah,  woe  unto  those  by  whom  such 
offence  cometh  ! " 

1  "  Ye  are  come  unto  Mount  Sion,  and  unto  the  city  of  the  living  God, 
the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  and  to  an  innumerable  company  of  angels,  to  the 
general  assembly  and  church  of  the  first-born,  which  are  written  in  heaven." 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  307 

At  this  moment  the  form  of  Agostino  was  seen  ascending 
the  marble  staircase. 

The  eye  of  the  monk  brightened  as  he  came  towards  him. 
He  put  out  one  hand  eagerly  to  take  his,  and  raised  the 
other  with  a  gesture  of  silence. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  "  and  listen !  Is  it  not  the  sound  of 
many  waters  and  mighty  thunderings  ?  " 

Agostino  stood  subdued  for  the  moment  by  the  magnificent 
sights  and  sounds  ;  for,  as  the  sun  went  down,  the  distant 
mountains  grew  every  moment  more  unearthly  in  their  brill 
iancy,  —  and  as  they  lay  in  a  long  line,  jewelled  bright 
ness  mingling  with  the  cloud-wreaths  of  the  far  horizon,  one 
might  have  imagined  that  he  in  truth  beheld  the  foundations 
of  that  celestial  city  of  jasper,  pearl,  and  translucent  gold 
which  the  Apostle  saw,  and  that  the  risings  and  fallings  of 
choral  sound  which  seemed  to  thrill  and  pulsate  through  the 
marble  battlements  were  indeed  that  song  like  many  waters 
sung  by  the  Church  Triumphant  above. 

For  a  few  moments  the  monk  and  the  young  man  stood 
in  silence,  till  at  length  the  monk  spoke. 

"You  have  told  me,  my  son,  that  your  heart  often  troubles 
you  in  being  more  Roman  than  Christian  ;  that  you  some 
times  doubt  whether  the  Church  on  earth  be  other  than  a 
fiction  or  a  fable.  But  look  around  us.  Who  are  these, 
this  great  multitude  who  praise  and  pray  continually  in  this 
temple  of  the  upper  air  ?  These  are  they  who  have  come 
out  of  great  tribulation,  having  washed  their  robes  and  made 
them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  These  are  not  the 
men  that  have  sacked  cities,  and  made  deserts,  and  written 
their  triumphs  in  blood  and  carnage.  These  be  men  that 
have  sheltered  the  poor,  and  built  houses  for  orphans,  and 
sold  themselves  into  slavery  to  redeem  their  brothers  in 


308  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

Christ.  These  be  pure  women  who  have  lodged  saints, 
brought  up  children,  lived  holy  and  prayerful  lives.  These 
be  martyrs  who  have  laid  down  their  lives  for  the  testimony 
of  Jesus.  There  were  no  such  churches  in  old  Rome,  —  no 
such  saints." 

"  Well,"  said  Agostino,  "  one  thing  is  certain.  If  such  be 
the  True  Church,  the  Pope  and  the  Cardinals  of  our  day 
have  no  part  in  it ;  for  they  are  the  men  who  sack  cities  and 
make  desolations,  who  devour  widows'  houses  and  for  a  pre 
tence  make  long  prayers.  Let  us  see  one  of  them  selling 
himself  into  slavery  for  the  love  of  anybody,  while  they 
seek  to  keep  all  the  world  in  slavery  to  themselves !  " 

"  That  is  the  grievous  declension  our  master  weeps  over," 
said  the  monk.  "  Ah,  if  the  Bishops  of  the  Church  now 
were  like  brave  old  Saint  Ambrose,  strong  alone  by  faith 
and  prayer,  showing  no  more  favor  to  an  unrepentant  Em 
peror  than  to  the  meanest  slave,  then  would  the  Church  be  a 
reality  and  a  glory  !  Such  is  my  master.  Never  is  he  afraid 
of  the  face  of  king  or  lord,  when  he  has  God's  truth  to 
speak.  You  should  have  heard  how  plainly  he  dealt  with 
our  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  on  his  death-bed,  —  how  he  refused 
him  absolution,  unless  he  would  make  restitution  to  the  poor 
and  restore  the  liberties  of  Florence." 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  said  the  young  man,  sarcasti 
cally,  "  that  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  might  have  got  abso 
lution  cheaper  than  that.  Where  were  .ill  the  bishops  in 
his  dominion,  that  he  must  needs  send  for  Jerome  Savo 
narola  ?  " 

"  Son,  it  is  ever  so,"  replied  the  monk.  "  If  there  be  a 
man  that  cares  neither  for  Duke  nor  Emperor,  but  for  God 
alone,  then  Dukes  and  Emperors  would  give  more  for  his 
good  word  than  for  a  whole  dozen  of  common  priests." 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  309 

"  I  suppose  it  is  something  like  a  rare  manuscript  or  a 
singular  gem  :  these  virtuosi  have  no  rest  till  they  have 
clutched  it.  The  thing  they  cannot  get  is  always  the  thing 
they  want." 

"  Lorenzo  was  always  seeking  our  master,"  said  the  monk. 
"  Often  would  he  come  walking  in  our  gardens,  expecting 
surely  he  would  hasten  down  to  meet  him ;  and  the  brothers 
would  run  all  out  of  breath  to  his  cell  to  say,  '  Father,  Lo 
renzo  is  in  the  garden.'  '  He  is  welcome,'  would  he  answer, 
with  his  pleasant  smile.  *  But,  father,  will  you  not  descend 
to  meet  him  ? '  <  Hath  he  asked  for  me  ? '  <  No.'  '  Well, 
then,  let  us  not  interrupt  his  meditations,'  he  would  answer, 
and  remain  still  at  his  reading,  so  jealous  was  he  lest  he 
should  seek  the  favor  of  princes  and  forget  God,  as  does  all 
the  world  in  our  day." 

"  And  because  he  does  not  seek  the  favor  of  the  men  of 
this  world  he  will  be  trampled  down  and  slain.  Will  the 
God  in  whom  he  trusts  defend  him?" 

The  monk  pointed  expressively  upward  to  the  statues 
thdt  stood  glorified  above  them,  still  wearing  a  rosy  radi 
ance,  though  the  shadows  of  twilight  had  fallen  on  all  the 
city  below. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  the  victories  of  the  True  Church  are 
not  in  time,  but  in  eternity.  How  many  around  us  were 
conquered  on  earth  that  they  might  triumph  in  heaven  ! 
What  saith  the  Apostle  ?  '  They  were  tortured,  not  ac 
cepting  deliverance,  that  they  might  obtain  a  better  resur 
rection.'  " 

"  But,  alas  !  "  said  Agostino,  "  are  we  never  to  see  the 
right  triumph  here  ?  I  fear  that  this  noble  name  is  written 
in  blood,  like  so  many  of  whom  the  world  is  not  worthy. 
Can  one  do  nothing  to  help  it  ? " 


310  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  How  is  that  ?  What  have  you  heard  ?  "  said  the  monk, 
eagerly.  "  Have  you  seen  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  Not  yet ;  he  is  gone  into  the  country  for  a  day,  —  so  say 
his  servants.  I  saw,  when  the  Duke's  court  passed,  my 
cousin,  who  is  in  his  train,  and  got  a  moment's  speech  with 
him  ;  and  he  promised,  that,  if  I  would  wait  for  him  here, 
he  would  come  to  me  as  soon  as  he  could  be  let  off  from 
his  attendance.  When  he  comes,  it  were  best  that  we 
confer  alone." 

"  I  will  retire  to  the  southern  side,"  said  the  monk,  "  and 
await  the  end  of  your  conference;"  and  with  that  he  crossed 
the  platform  on  which  they  were  standing,  and,  going  down 
a  flight  of  white  marble  steps,  was  soon  lost  to  view  amid  the 
wilderness  of  frost-like  carved  work. 

He  had  scarcely  vanished,  before  footsteps  were  heard 
ascending  the  marble  staircase  on  the  other  side,  and  the 
sound  of  a  voice  humming  a  popular  air  of  the  court. 

The  stranger  was  a  young  man  of  about  five-and-twenty, 
habited  with  all  that  richness  and  brilliancy  of  coloring 
which  the  fashion  of  the  day  permitted  to  a  young  exqui 
site.  His  mantle  of  purple  velvet  falling  jauntily  off  from 
one  shoulder  disclosed  a  doublet  of  amber  satin  richly  em 
broidered  with  gold  and  seed-pearl.  The  long  white  plume 
which  drooped  from  his  cap  was  Tield  in  its  place  by  a  large 
diamond  which  sparkled  like  a  star  in  the  evening  twilight. 
His  finely  moulded  hands  were  loaded  with  rings,  and  ruffles 
of  the  richest  Venetian  lace  encircled  his  wrists.  He  had 
worn  over  all  a  dark  cloak  with  a  peaked  hood,  the  usual 
evening  disguise  in  Italy ;  but  as  he  gained  the  top-stair  of 
the  platform,  he  threw  it  carelessly  down  and  gayly  offered 
his  hand. 

"  Good  even  to  you,  cousin  mine  !     So  you  see  I  am  as 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  311 

true  to  my  appointment  as  if  your  name  were  Leonora  or 
Camilla  instead  of  Agostino.  How  goes  it  with  you  ?  I 
wanted  to  talk  with  you  below,  but  I  saw  we  must  have  a 
place  without  listeners.  Our  friends  the  saints  are  too  high 
in  heavenly  things  to  make  mischief  by  eavesdropping." 

"Thank  you,  Cousin  Carlos,  for  your  promptness.  And 
now  to  the  point.  Did  your  father,  my  uncle,  get  the  letter 
I  wrote  him  about  a  month  since  ?  " 

"  He  did ;  and  he  bade  me  treat  with  you  about  it.  It's 
an  abominable  snarl  this  they  have  got  you  into.  My  father 
says,  your  best  way  is  to  come  straight  to  him  in  France, 
and  abide  till  things  take  a  better  turn  :  he  is  high  in  favor 
with  the  King  and  can  find  you  a  very  pretty  place  at  court, 
and  he  takes  it  upon  him  in  time  to  reconcile  the  Pope.  Be 
tween  you  and  me,  the  old  Pope  has  no  special  spite  in  the 
world  against  you :  he  merely  wants  your  lands  for  his  son, 
and  as  long  as  you  prowl  round  and  lay  claim  to  them,  why, 
you  must  stay  excommunicated ;  but  just  clear  the  coast  and 
leave  them  peaceably  and  he  will  put  you  back  into  the 
True  Church,  and  my  father  will  charge  himself  with  your 
success.  Popes  don't  last  forever,  or  there  may  come  an 
other  falling  out  with  the  King  of  France,  and  either  way 
there  will  be  a  chance  of  your  being  one  day  put  back  into 
your  rights  ;  meanwhile,  a  young  fellow  might  do  worse  than 
have  a  good  place  in  our  court." 

During  this  long  monologue,  which  the  young  speaker 
uttered  with  all  the  flippant  self-sufficiency  of  worldly  people 
with  whom  the  world  is  going  well,  the  face  of  the  young 
nobleman  who  listened  presented  a  picture  of  many  strong 
contending  emotions. 

"  You  speak,"  he  said,  "  as  if  'man  had  nothing  to  do  in 
this  world  but  seek  his  own  ease  and  pleasure.  What  lies 


312  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 

nearest  my  heart  is  not  that  I  am  plundered  of  my  estates, 
and  my  house  uprooted,  but  it  is  that  my  beautiful  Rome,  the 
city  of  my  fathers,  is  a  prisoner  under  the  heel  of  the  tyrant. 
It  is  that  the  glorious  religion  of  Christ,  the  holy  faith  in 
which  my  mother  died,  the  faith  made  venerable  by  all  these 
saints  around  us,  is  made  the  tool  and  instrument  of  such 
vileness  and  cruelty  that  one  is  tempted  to  doubt  whether  it 
were  not  better  to  have  been  born  of  heathen  in  the  good 
old  times  of  the  Roman  Republic,  —  God  forgive  me  for 
saying  so !  Does  the  Most  Christian  King  of  France  know 
that  the  man  who  pretends  to  rule  in  the  name  of  Christ  is 
not  a  believer  in  the  Christian  religion,  —  that  he  does  not 
believe  even  in  a  God, —  that  he  obtained  the  holy  seat  by 
simony,  —  that  he  uses  all  its  power  to  enrich  a  brood  of 
children  whose  lives  are  so  indecent  that  it  is  a  shame  to 
modest  lips  even  to  say  what  they  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  the  other,  "  the  King  of  France  is 
pretty  well  informed  about  all  these  things.  You  know  old 
King  Charles,  when  he  marched  through  Italy,  had  more 
than  half  a  mind,  they  say,  to  pull  the  old  Pope  out  of  his 
place ;  and  he  might  have  done  it  easily.  My  father  was 
in  his  train  at  that  time,  and  he  says  the  Pope  was  fright 
ened  enough.  Somehow  they  made  it  all  up  among  them, 
and  settled  about  their  territories,  which  is  the  main  thing, 
after  all ;  and  now  our  new  King,  I  fancy,  does  not  like  to 
meddle  with  him :  between  you  and  me,  he  has  his  eye  in 
another  direction  here.  This  gay  city  would  suit  him  admi 
rably,  and  he  fancies  he  can  govern  it  as  well  as  it  is  gov 
erned  now.  My  father  does  not  visit  here  with  his  eyes 

shut,  /  can  tell  you.      But  as  to  the  Pope Well,  you 

see  such  things  are  delicate  to  handle.  After  all,  my  dear 
Agostiiio,  we  are  not  priests,  —  our  business  is  with  this 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  313 

world  ;  and,  no  matter  how  they  came  by  them,  these  fellows 
have  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and  one  cannot 
afford  to  quarrel  with  them,  —  we  must  have  the  ordinances, 
you  know,  or  what  becomes  of  our  souls  ?  Do  you  suppose, 
now,  that  I  should  live  as  gay  and  easy  a  life  as  I  do,  if  I 
thought  there  were  any  doubt  of  my  salvation  ?  It 's  a 
mercy  to  us  sinners  that  the  ordinances  are  not  vitiated  by 
the  sins  of  the  priests ;  it  would  go  hard  with  us,  if  they 
were :  as  it  is,  if  they  will  live  scandalous  lives,  it  is  their 
affair,  not  ours." 

"  And  is  it  nothing,"  replied  the  other,  "  to  a  true  man 
who  has  taken  the  holy  vows  of  knighthood  on  him,  whether 
his  Lord's  religion  be  defamed  and  dishonored  and  made  a 
scandal  and  a  scoffing  ?  Did  not  all  Europe  go  out  to  save 
Christ's  holy  sepulchre  from  being  dishonored  by  the  feet  of 
the  Infidel  ?  and  shall  we  let  infidels  have  the  very  house 
of  the  Lord,  and  reign  supreme  in  His  holy  dwelling-place  ? 
There  has  risen  a  holy  prophet  in  Italy,  the  greatest  since 
the  time  of  Saint  Francis,  and  his  preaching  hath  stirred 
all  hearts  to  live  more  conformably  with  our  holy  faith  ;  and 
now  for  his  pure  life  and  good  works  he  is  under  excommu 
nication  of  the  Pope,  and  they  have  seized  and  imprisoned 
him,  and  threaten  his  life." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Savonarola,"  said  the  other.  ."  Yes,  we 
have  heard  of  him,  —  a  most  imprudent,  impracticable  fel 
low,  who  will  not  take  advice  nor  be  guided.  My  father,  I 
believe,  thought  well  of  him  once,  and  deemed  that  in  the 
distracted  state  of  Italy  he  might  prove  serviceable  in  for 
warding  some  of  his  plans :  but  he  is  wholly  wrapt  up  in  his 
own  notions ;  he  heeds  no  will  but  his  own." 

"  Have  you  heard  anything,"  said  Agostino,  "  of  a  letter 
which  he  wrote  to  the  King  of  France  lately,  stirring  him  up 


314  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

to  call  a  General  Council  of  the  Christian  Church  to  consider 
what  is  to  be  done  about  the  scandals  at  Rome  ?  " 

"  Then  he  has  written  one,  has  he  ?  "  replied  the  young 
man  ;  "  then  the  story  that  I  have  heard  whispered  about 
here  must  be  true.  A  man  who  certainly  is  in  a  condition 
to  know  told  me  day  before  yesterday  that  the  Duke  had 
arrested  a  courier  with  some  such  letter,  and  sent  it  on  to 
the  Pope :  it  is  likely,  for  the  Duke  hates  Savonarola.  If 
that  be  true,  it  will  go  hard  with  him  yet ;  for  the  Pope  has 
a  long  arm  for  an  enemy." 

"  And  so,"  said  Agostino,  with  an  expression  of  deep  con 
cern,  "  that  letter,  from  which  the  good  man  hoped  so  much, 
and  which  was  so  powerful,  will  only  go  to  increase  his 
danger ! " 

"  The  more  fool  he  !  —  he  might  have  known  that  it  was 
of  no  use.  Who  was  going  to  take  his  part  against  the 
Pope?" 

"  The  city  of  Florence  has  stood  by  him  until  lately,"  said 
Agostino,  —  "  and  would  again,  with  a  little  help." 

"  Oh,  no !  never  think  it,  my  dear  Agostino !  Depend 
upon  it,  it  will  end  as  such  things  always  do,  and  the  man 
is  only  a  madman  that  undertakes  it.  Hark  ye,  cousin,  what 
have  you  to  do  with  this  man  ?  Why  do  you  attach  yourself 
to  the  side  that  is  sure  to  lose  ?  I  cannot  conceive  what  you 
would  be  at.  This  is  no  way  to  mend  your  fortunes.  Come 
to-night  to  my  father's  palace :  the  Duke  has  appointed  us 
princely  lodgings,  and  treats  us  with  great  hospitality,  and 
my  father  has  plans  for  your  advantage.  Between  us,  there 
is  a  fair  young  ward  of  his,  of  large  estates  and  .noble  blood, 
whom  he  designs  for  you.  So  you  see,  if  you  turn  your 
attention  in  this  channel,  there  may  come  a  reinforcement  of 
the  family  property,  which  will  enable  you  to  hold  out  until 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  315 

the  Pope  dies,  or  some  prince  or  other  gets  into  a  quarrel 
with  him,  which  is  always  happening,  and  then  a  move  may 
be  made  for  you.  My  father,  I  '11  promise  you,  is  shrewd 
enough,  and  always  keeps  his  eye  open  to  see  where  there 
is  a  joint  in  the  harness,  and  have  a  trusty  dagger-blade  all 
whetted  to  stick  under.  Of  course,  he  means  to  see  you 
righted ;  he  has  the  family  interest  at  heart,  and  feels  as 
indignant  as  you  could  at  the  rascality  which  has  been  perpe 
trated  ;  but  I  am  quite  sure  he  will  tell  you  that  the  way  is 
not  to  come  out  openly  against  the  Pope  and  join  this  fanat 
ical  party." 

Agostino  stood  silent,  with  the  melancholy  air  of  a  man 
who  has  much  to  say,  and  is  deeply  moved  by  considerations 
which  he  perceives  it  would  be  utterly  idle  and  useless  to 
attempt  to  explain.  If  the  easy  theology  of  his  friend  were 
indeed  true,  —  if  the  treasures  of  the  heavenly  kingdom, 
glory,  honor,  and  immortality,  could  indeed  be  placed  in 
unholy  hands,  to  be  bought  and  sold  and  traded  in,  —  if  holi 
ness  of  heart  and  life,  and  all  those  nobler  modes  of  living 
and  being  which  were  witnessed  in  the  histories  of  the  thou 
sand  saints  around  him,  were  indeed  but  a  secondary  thing 
in  the  strife  for  worldly  place  and  territory,  —  what,  then, 
remained  for  the  man  of  ideas,  of  aspirations  ?  In  such  a 
state  of  society,  his  track  must  be  like  that  of  the  dove 
in  sacred  history,  who  found  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  her 
foot. 

Agostino  folded  his  arms  and  sighed  deeply,  and  then 
made  answer  mechanically,  as  one  whose  thoughts  are  afar 
off. 

"  Present  my  duty,"  he  said,  "  to  my  uncle,  your  father, 
and  say  to  him  that  I  will  wait  on  him  to-night." 

"  Even  so,"  said  the  young  man,  picking  up  his  cloak  and 


316  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

folding  it  about  him.  "And  now,  you  know,  I  must  go. 
Don't  be  discouraged ;  keep  up  a  good  heart ;  you  shall  see 
what  it  is  to  have  powerful  friends  to  stand  by  you  ;  all  will 
be  right  yet.  Come,  will  you  go  with  me  now  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Agostino,  "  I  think  I  would  be  alone  a 
little  while.  My  head  is  confused,  and  I  would  fain  think 
over  matters  a  little  quietly." 

"  Well,  au  revoir,  then.  I  must  leave  you  to  the  com 
pany  of  the  saints.  But  be  sure  and  come  early." 

So  saying,  he  threw  his  cloak  over  his  shoulder  and  saun 
tered  carelessly  down  the  marble  steps,  humming  again  the 
gay  air  with  which  he  had  ascended. 

Left  alone,  Agostino  once  more  cast  a  glance  on  the 
strangely  solemn  and  impressive  scene  around  him.  He 
was  standing  on  a  platform  of  the  central  tower  which  over 
looked  the  whole  building.  The  round,  full  moon  had  now 
risen  in  the  horizon,  displacing  by  her  solemn  brightness  the 
glow  of  twilight ;  and  her  beams  were  reflected  by  the  deli 
cate  frost-work  of  the  myriad  pinnacles  which  rose  in  a 
bewildering  maze  at  his  feet.  It  might  seem  to  be  some 
strange  enchanted  garden  of  fairy-land,  where  a  luxuriant 
and  freakish  growth  of  Nature  had  been  suddenly  arrested 
and  frozen  into  eternal  stillness.  Around  in  the  shadows  at 
tjie  foot  of  the  Cathedral  the  lights  of  the  great  gay  city 
twinkled  and  danced  and  veered  and  fluttered  like  fireflies 
in  the  damp,  dewy  shadows  of  some  moist  meadow  in  sum 
mer.  The  sound  of  clattering  hoofs  and  rumbling  wheels, 
of  tinkling  guitars  and  gay  roundelays,  rose  out  of  that 
obscure  distance,  seeming  far  off  and  plaintive  like  the  dream 
of  a  life  that  is  past.  The  great  church  seemed  a  vast 
world ;  the  long  aisles  of  statued  pinnacles  with  their  pure 
floorings  of  white  marble  appeared  as  if  they  might  be  the 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  317 

corridors  of  heaven ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  crowned  and 
sceptred  saints  in  their  white  marriage-garments  might  come 
down  and  walk  there,  without  ever  a  spot  of  earth  on  their 
unsullied  whiteness. 

In  a  few  moments  Father  Antonio  had  glided  back  to  the 
side  of  the  young  man,  whom  he  found  so  lost  in  reverie 
that  not  till  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm  did  he  awaken 
from  his  meditations. 

"  Ah  ! "  he  said,  with  a  start,  "  my  father,  is  it  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  son.  What  of  your  conference  ?  Have  you 
learned  anything?" 

"  Father,  I  have  learned  far  more  than  I  wished  to 
know." 

"  What  is  it,  my  son  ?     Speak  it  at  once." 

"  Well,  then,  I  fear  that  the  letter  of  our  holy  father  to 
the  King  of  France  has  been  intercepted  here  in  Milan, 
and  sent  to  the  Pope." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  said  the  monk,  with  an 
eagerness  that  showed  how  much  he  felt  the  intelligence. 

"  My  cousin  tells  me  that  a  person  of  consideration  in  the 
Duke's  household,  who  is  supposed  to  be  in  a  position  to 
know,  told  him  that  it  was  so." 

Agostino  felt  the  light  grasp  which  the  monk  had  laid 
upon  his  arm  gradually  closing  with  a  convulsive  pressure, 
and  that  he  was  trembling  with  intense  feeling. 

"  Even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemed  good  in  thy  sight ! " 
he  said,  after  a  few  moments  of  silence. 

"  It  is  discouraging,"  said  Agostino,  "  to  see  how  little 
these  princes  care  for  the  true  interests  of  religion  and  the 
service  of  God,  —  how  little  real  fealty  there  is  to  our  Lord 
Jesus." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  monk,  "  all  seek  their  own,  and  not  the 


318  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

things  that  are  Christ's.  It  is  well  written,  '  Put  not  your 
trust  in  princes.'" 

"  And  what  prospect,  what  hope  do  you  see  for  him  ?  " 
said  Agostino.  "  Will  Florence  stand  firm  ?  " 

"  I  could  have  thought  so  once,"  said  the  monk,  — "  in 
those  days  when  I  have  seen  counsellors  and  nobles  and 
women  of  the  highest  degree  all  humbly  craving  to  hear  the 
word  of  God  from  his  lips,  and  seeming  to  seek  nothing  so 
much  as  to  purify  their  houses,  their  hands,  and  their  hearts, 
that  they  might  be  worthy  citizens  of  that  commonwealth 
which  has  chosen  the  Lord  Jesus  for  its  gonfalonier.  I  have 
seen  the  very  children  thronging  to  kiss  the  hem  of  his  robe, 
as  he  walked  through  the  streets ;  but,  oh,  my  friend,  did 
not  Jerusalem  bring  palms  and  spread  its  garments  in  the 
way  of  Christ  only  four  days  before  he  was  crucified  ?  " 

The  monk's  voice  here  faltered.  He  turned  away  and 
seemed  to  wrestle  with  a  tempest  of  suppressed  sobbing.  A 
moment  more,  he  looked  heavenward  and  pointed  up  with  a 
smile. 

"  Son,"  he  said,  "  you  ask  what  hope  there  is.  I  answer, 
There  is  hope  of  such  crowns  as  these  wear  who  came  out 
of  great  tribulation  and  now  reign  with  Christ  in  glory." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  319 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   PILGRIMAGE. 

THE  morning  sun  rose  clear  and  lovely  on  the  old  red 
rocks  of  Sorrento,  and  danced  in  a  thousand  golden  scales 
and  ripples  on  the  wide  Mediterranean.  The  shadows  of 
the  gorge  were  pierced  by  long  golden  shafts  of  light,  here 
falling  on  some  moist  bed  of  crimson  cyclamen,  there  shining 
through  a  waving  tuft  of  gladiolus,  or  making  the  abundant 
yellow  fringes  of  the  broom  more  vivid  in  their  brightness. 
The  velvet-mossy  old  bridge,  in  the  far  shadows  at  the  bot 
tom,  was  lit  up  by  a  chance  beam,  and  seemed  as  if  it  might 
be  something  belonging  to  fairy-land. 

There  had  been  a  bustle  and  stir  betimes  in  the  little 
dove-cot,  for  to-morrow  the  inmates  were  to  leave  it  for  a 
long,  adventurous  journey. 

To  old  Elsie,  the  journey  back  to  Rome,  the  city  of  her 
former  days  of  prosperity,  the  place  which  had  witnessed 
her  ambitious  hopes,  her  disgrace  and  downfall,  was  full  of 
painful  ideas.  There  arose  to  her  memory,  like  a  picture, 
those  princely  halls,  with  their  slippery,  cold  mosaic  floors, 
their  long  galleries  of  statues  and  paintings,  their  enchanting 
gardens,  musical  with  the  voice  of  mossy  fountains,  fragrant 
with  the  breath  of  roses  and  jasmines,  where  the  mother 
of  Agnes  had  spent  the  hours  of  her  youth  and  beauty. 
She  seemed  to  see  her  flitting  hither  and  thither  down  the 
stately  ilex-avenues,  like  some  gay  singing-bird,  to  whom 
were  given  gilded  cages  and  a  constant  round  of  caresses 


320  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

and  sweets,  or  like  the  flowers  in  the  parterres,  which  lived 
and  died  only  as  the  graceful  accessories  of  the  grandeur  of 
an  old  princely  family. 

She  compared,  mentally,  the  shaded  and  secluded  life 
which  Agnes  had  led  with  the  specious  and  fatal  brilliancy 
which  had  been  the  lot  of  her  mother,  —  her  simple  peasant 
garb  with  those  remembered  visions  of  jewelry  and  silk 
and  embroideries  with  which  the  partial  patronage  of  the 
Duchess  or  the  ephemeral  passion  of  her  son  had  decked 
out  the  poor  Isella ;  and  then  came  swelling  at  her  heart  a 
tumultuous  thought,  one  which  she  had  repressed  and  kept 
down  for  years  with  all  the  force  of  pride  and  hatred.  Ag 
nes,  peasant-girl  though  she  seemed,  had  yet  the  blood  of 
that  proud  old  family  in  her  veins ;  the  marriage  had  been  a 
true  one;  she  herself  had  witnessed  it. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  were  justice  done,  she 
would  now  be  a  princess,  —  a  fit  mate  for  the  nobles  of  the 
land ;  and  here  I  ask  no  more  than  to  mate  her  to  an  honest 
smith,  —  I  that  have  seen  a  prince  kneel  to  kiss  her  moth 
er's  hand,  —  yes,  he  did,  —  entreat  her  on  his  knees  to  be 
his  wife,  —  I  saw  it.  But  then,  what  came  of  it  ?  Was 
there  ever  one  of  these  nobles  that  kept  oath  or  promise  to 
us  of  the  people,  or  that  cared  for  us  longer  than  the  few 
moments  we  could  serve  his  pleasure  ?  Old  Elsie,  you  have 
done  wisely  !  keep  your  dove  out  of  the  eagle's  nest :  it  is 
foul  with  the  blood  of  poor  innocents  whom  he  has  torn  to 
pieces  in  his  cruel  pride ! " 

These  thoughts  swelled  in  silence  in  the  mind  of  Elsie, 
while  she  was  busy  sorting  and  arranging  her  household 
stores,  and  making  those  thousand-and-one  preparations 
known  to  every  householder,  whether  of  much  or  little,  who 
meditates  a  long  journey. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  321 

To  Agnes  she  seemed  more  than  ever  severe  and  hard ; 
yet  probably  there  never  was  a  time  when  every  pulse  of 
her  heart  was  beating  more  warmly  for  the  child,  and  every 
thought  of  the  future  was  more  entirely  regulated  with  ref 
erence  to  her  welfare.  It  is  no  sinecure  to  have  the  entire 
devotion  of  a  strong,  enterprising,  self-willed  friend,  as  Ag 
nes  had  all  her  life  found.  One  cannot  gather  grapes  of 
thorns  or  figs  of  thistles,  and  the  affection  of  thorny  and 
thistly  natures  has  often  as  sharp  an  acid  and  as  long  prick 
ers  as  wild  gooseberries,  —  yet  it  is  their  best,  and  must  be 
so  accepted. 

Agnes  tried  several  times  to  offer  her  help  to  her  grand 
mother,  but  was  refused  so  roughly  that  she  dared  not  offer 
again,  and  therefore  went  to  her  favorite  station  by  the  para 
pet  in  the  garden,  whence  she  could  look  up  and  down  the 
gorge,  and  through  the  arches  of  the  old  mossy  Roman 
bridge  that  spanned  it  far  down  by  the  city-wall.  All  these 
things  had  become  dear. to  her  by  years  of  familiar  silent 
converse.  The  little  garden,  with  its  old  sculptured  basin, 
and  the  ever-lulling  dash  of  falling  water,  —  the  tremulous 
draperies  of  maiden's-hair,  always  beaded  with  shining  drops, 

—  the  old  shrine,  with  its  picture,  its  lamp,  and  flower-vase, 

—  the  tall,  dusky  orange-trees,  so  full  of  blossoms  and  fruit, 
so  smooth  and  shining  in  their  healthy  bark,  —  all  seemed 
to  her  as  so  many  dear  old  friends  whom  she  was  about  to 
leave,  perhaps  forever. 

What  this  pilgrimage  would  be  like,  she  scarcely  knew : 
days  and  weeks  of  wandering,  —  over  mountain-passes,  — 
in  deep,  solitary  valleys,  —  as  years  ago.  when  her  grand 
mother  brought  her,  a  little  child,  from  Rome. 

In  the  last  few  weeks,  Agnes  seemed  to  herself  to  have 
become  wholly  another  being.  Silently,  insensibly,  her  feet 
14* 


322  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

had  crossed  the  enchanted  river  that  divides  childhood  from 
womanhood,  and  all  the  sweet  ignorant  joys  of  that  first 
early  paradise  lay  behind  her.  Up  to  this  time  her  life  had 
seemed  to  her  a  charming  dream,  full  of  blessed  visions  and 
images:  legends  of  saints,  and  hymns,  and  prayers  had 
blended  with  flower-gatherings  in  the  gorge,  and  light  daily 
toils. 

Now,  a  new,  strange  life  had  been  born  within  her, — 
a  life  full  of  passions,  contradictions,  and  conflicts.  A  love 
had  sprung  up  in  her  heart,  strange  and  wonderful,  for  one 
who  till  within  these  few  weeks  had  been  entirely  unknown 
to  her,  who  had  never  toiled  for,  or  housed,  or  clothed,  or 
cared  for  her  as  her  grandmother  had,  and  yet  whom  a  few 
short  interviews,  a  few  looks,  a  few  words,  had  made  to 
seem  nearer  and  dearer  than  the  old,  tried  friends  of  her 
childhood.  In  vain  she  confessed  it  as  a  sin,  —  in  vain  she 
strove  against  it ;  it  came  back  to  her  in  every  hymn,  in 
every  prayer.  Then  she  would  press  the  sharp  cross  to  her 
breast,  till  a  thousand  stings  of  pain  would  send  the  blood  in 
momentary  rushes  to  her  pale  cheek,  and  cause  her  delicate 
lips  to  contract  with  an  expression  of  stern  endurance,  and 
pray  that  by  any  penance  and  anguish  she  might  secure  his 
salvation. 

To  save  one  such  glorious  soul,  she  said  to  herself,  was 
work  enough  for  one  little  life.  She  was  willing  to  spend  it 
all  in  endurance,  unseen  by  him,  unknown  to  him,  so  that  at 
last  he  should  be  received  into  that  Paradise  which  her  ar 
dent  imagination  conceived  so  vividly.  Surely,  there  she 
should  meet  him,  radiant  as  the  angel  of  her  dream  ;  and 
then  she  would  tell  him  that  it  was  all  for  his  sake  that  she 
had  refused  to  listen  to  him  here.  And  these  sinful  long 
ings  to  see  him  once  more,  these  involuntary  Teachings  of 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  323 

her  soul  after  an  earthly  companionship,  she  should  find 
strength  to  overcome  in  this  pilgrimage.  She  should  go  to 
Rome,  —  the  very  city  where  the  blessed  Paul  poured  out 
his  blood  for  the  Lord  Jesus,  —  where  Peter  fed  the  flock, 
till  his  time,  too,  came  to  follow  his  Lord  in  the  way  of 
the  cross.  She  should  even  come  near  to  her  blessed  Re 
deemer  ;  she  should  go  up,  on  her  knees,,  those  very  steps 
to  Pilate's  hall  where  He  stood  bleeding,  crowned  with 
thorns,  —  His  blood,  perhaps,  dropping  on  the  very  stones. 
Ah,  could  any  mortal  love  distract  her  there  ?  Should  she 
not  there  find  her  soul  made  free  of  every  earthly  thrall  to 
love  her  Lord  alone,  —  as  she  had  loved  Him  in  the  artless 
and  ignorant  days  of  her  childhood,  —  but  better,  a  thou 
sand  times? 

"  Good-morning  to  you,  pretty  dove ! "  said  a  voice  from 
without  the  garden-wall ;  and  Agnes,  roused  from  her  rev- 
ery,  saw  old  Jocunda. 

"  I  came  down  to  help  you  off,"  she  said,  as  she  came  into 
the  little  garden.  "  Why,  my  dear  little  saint !  you  are 
looking  white  as  a  sheet,  and  with  those  tears  !  What 's  it 
all  for,  baby?" 

"  Ah,  Jocunda !  grandmamma  is  angry  with  me  all  the 
time  now.  I  wish  I  could  go  once  more  to  the  convent  and 
see  my  dear  Mother  Theresa.  She  is  angry,  if  I  but  name 
it ;  and  yet  she  will  not  let  me  do  anything  here  to  help  her, 
and  so  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"  WTell,  at  any  rate,  don't  cry,  pretty  one !  Your  grand 
mamma  is  worked  with  hard  thoughts.  We  old  folks  are 
twisted  and  crabbed  and  full  of  knots  with  disappointment 
and  trouble,  like  the  mulberry -trees  that  they  keep  for  vines 
to  run  on.  But  I  '11  speak  to  her ;  I  know  her  ways  j  she 
shall  let  you  go ;  I  '11  bring  her  round." 


324  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  So-ho,  sister ! "  said  the  old  soul,  hobbling  to  the  door, 
and  looking  in  at  Elsie,  who  was  sitting  flat  on  the  stone 
floor  of  her  cottage,  sorting  a  quantity  of  flax  that  lay  around 
her.  The  severe  Roman  profile  was  thrown  out  by  the 
deep  shadows  of  the  interior,  —  and  the  piercing  black  eyes, 
the  silver-white  hair,  and  the  strong,  compressed  lines  of  the 
mouth,  as  she  worked,  and  struggled  with  the  ghosts  of  her 
former  life,  made  her  look  like  no  unapt  personification  of 
one  of  the  Fates  reviewing  her  flax  before  she  commenced 
the  spinning  of  some  new  web  of  destiny. 

"  Good-morning  to  you,  sister !  "  said  Jocunda.  "  I  heard 
you  were  off  to-morrow,  and  I  came  to  see  what  I  could  do 
to  help  you." 

"  There  's  nothing  to  be  done  for  me,  but  to  kill  me,"  said 
Elsie.  "  I  am  weary  of  living." 

"  Oh,  never  say  that !  Shake  the  dice  again,  my  old  man 
used  to  say,  —  God  rest  his  soul !  Please  Saint  Agnes, 
you  '11  have  a  brave  pilgrimage." 

"Saint  Agnes  be  hanged!"  said  Elsie,  gruffly.  "I'm 
out  with  her.  It  was  she  put  all  these  notions  into  my  girl's 
head.  Because  she  did  n't  get  married  herself,  she  don't 
want  any  one  else  to.  She  has  no  consideration.  I  've 
done  with  her :  I  told  her  so  this  morning.  The  candles 
I  've  burned  and  the  prayers  I  've  gone  through  with,  that 
she  might  prosper  me  in  this  one  thing !  and  it 's  all  gone 
against  me.  She  's  a  baggage,  and  shall  never  see  another 
penny  of  mine,  —  that 's  flat !  " 

Such  vituperation  of  saints  and  sacred  images  may  be 
heard  to  this  day  in  Italy,  and  is  a  common  feature  of  idol- 
worship  in  all  lands ;  for,  however  the  invocation  of  the 
saints  could  be  vitalized  in  the  hearts  of  the  few  spiritual, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  in  the  mass  of  the  common  people  it 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  325 

had  all  the  well-defined  symptoms  of  the  grossest  idolatry, 
among  which  fits  of  passionate  irreverence  are  one.  The 
feeling,  which  tempts  the  enlightened  Christian  in  sore  dis 
appointment  and  vexation  to  rise  in  rebellion  against  a  wise 
Providence,  in  the  childish  twilight  of  uncultured  natures 
finds  its  full  expression  unawed  by  reverence  or  fear. 

"  Oh,  hush,  now  !  "  said  Jocunda.  "  What  is  the  use  of 
making  her  angry  just  as  you  are  going  to  Rome,  where  she 
has  the  most  power  ?  All  sorts  of  ill-luck  will  befall  you. 
Make  up  with  her  before  you  start,  or  you  may  get  the  fever 
in  the  marshes  and  die,  and  then  who  will  take  care  of  poor 
Agnes  ?  " 

"  Let  Saint  Agnes  look  after  her  ;  the  girl  loves  her  bet 
ter  than  she  does  me  or  anybody  else,"  said  Elsie.  "  If  she 
cared  anything  about  me,  she  'd  marry  and  settle  down,  as  I 
want  her  to." 

"  Oh,  there  you  are  wrong,"  said  Jocunda.  "  Marrying  is 
like  your  dinner :  one  is  not  always  in  stomach  for  it,  and 
one's  meat  is  another's  poison.  Now  who  knows  but  this 
pilgrimage  may  be  the  very  thing  to  bring  the  girl  round  ? 
I  Ve  seen  people  cured  of  too  much  religion  by  going  to 
Rome.  You  know  things  a'n't  there  as  our  little  saint  fan 
cies.  Why,  between  you  and  me,  the  priests  themselves 
have  their  jokes  on  those  who  come  so  far  to  so  little  pur 
pose.  More  shame  for  'em,  say  I,  too;  but  we  common 
people  must  n't  look  into  such  things  too  closely.  Now  take 
it  cheerfully,  and  you  '11  see  the  girl  will  come  back  tired 
of  tramping  and  able  to  settle  down  in  a  good  home  with  a 
likely  husband.  I  have  a  brother  in  Naples  who  is  turning 
a  pretty  penny  in  the  fisheries ;  I  will  give  you  directions  to 
find  him  ;  his  wife  is  a  wholesome  Christian  woman  ;  and 
if  the  little  one  be  tired  by  the  time  you  get  there,  you 


326  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

might  do  worse  than  stop  two  or  three  days  with  them.  It 's 
a  brave  city  ;  seems  made  to  have  a  good  time  in.  Come, 
you  let  her  just  run  up  to  the  convent  to  bid  good-by  to 
the  Mother  Theresa  and  the  sisters." 

"  I  don't  care  where  she  goes,''  said  Elsie,  ungraciously. 

"  There,  now  !  "  said  Jocunda,  coming  out,  —  "  Agnes, 
your  grandmother  bids  you  go  to  the  convent  to  say  good- 
by  to  the  sisters ;  so  run  along,  there  's  a  little  dear.  The 
Mother  Theresa  talks  of  nothing  else  but  you  since  she  heard 
that  you  meditated  this  ;  and  she  has  broken  in  two  her  own 
piece  of  the  True  Cross  which  she  's  carried  in  the  gold  and 
pearl  reliquary  that  the  Queen  sent  her,  and  means  to  give 
it  to  you.  One  does  n't  halve  such  gifts,  without  one's  whole 
heart  goes  with  them." 

"  Dear  mother ! "  said  Agnes,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 
"  I  will  take  her  some  flowers  and  oranges  for  the  last  time. 
Do  you  know,  Jocunda,  I  feel  that  I  never  shall  come  back 
here  to  this  dear  little  home  where  I  have  been  so  happy  ? 

—  everything  sounds  so  mournful  and  looks  so  mournful !  — 
I  love  everything  here  so  much  !  '* 

"  Oh,  dear  child,  never  give  in  to  such  fancies,  but  pluck 
up  heart.  You  will  be  sure  to  have  luck,  wherever  you  go, 

—  especially  since  the  mother  will  give  you  that  holy  relic. 
I  myself  had   a   piece   of  Saint  John  Baptist's  thumb-nail 
sewed  up  in  a  leather  bag,  which  I  wore  day  and  night  all 
the  years  I  was  tramping  up  and  down  with  my  old  man ; 
but  when  he  died,  I  had  it  buried  with  him  to  ease  his  soul. 
For  you  see,  dear,  he  was  a  trooper,  and  led  such  a  rackety, 
up-and-down  life,  that  I  doubt  but  his  confessions  were  but 
slipshod,  and  he  needed  all  the  help  he  could  get,  poor  old 
soul !     It 's  a  comfort  to  think  he  has  it." 

"  Ah,  Jocunda,  seems  to  me  it  were  better  to  trust  to  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  327 

free  love  of  our  dear  Lord  who  died  for  us.  and  pray  to 
Him,  without  ceasing,  for  his  soul." 

"  Like  enough,  dearie ;  but  then,  one  can't  be  too  sure, 
you  know.  And  there  is  n't  the  least  doubt  in  my  mind  that 
that  was  a  true  relic,  for  I  got  it  in  the  sack  of  the  city  of 
Volterra,  out  of  the  private  cabinet  of  a  noble  lady,  with  a 
lot  of  jewels  and  other  matters  that  made  quite  a  little  purse 
for  us.  Ah,  that  was  a  time,  when  that  city  was  sacked  ! 
It  was  hell  upon  earth  for  three  days,  and  all  our  men  acted 
like  devils  incarnate ;  but  then  they  always  will  in  such 
cases.  But  go  your  ways  now,  dearie,  and  I  '11  stay  with 
your  grandmamma ;  for,  please  God,  you  must  be  up  and 
away  with  the  sun  to-morrow." 

Agnes  hastily  arranged  a  little  basket  of  fruit  and  flowers, 
and  took  her  way  down  through  the  gorge,  under  the  Ro 
man  bridge,  through  an  orange-orchard,  and  finally  came 
out  upon  the  sea-shore,  and  so  along  the  sands  below  the 
cliffs  on  which  the  old  town  of  Sorrento  is  situated. 

So  cheating  and  inconsistent  is  the  human  heart,  es 
pecially  in  the  feminine  subject,  that  she  had  more  than 
once  occasion  to  chide  herself  for  the  thrill  with  which  she 
remembered  passing  the  cavalier  once  in  this  orange-garden, 
and  the  sort  of  vague  hope  which  she  detected  that  some 
where  along  this  road  he  might  appear  again. 

"  How  perfectly  wicked  and  depraved  I  must  be,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  to  find  any  pleasure  in  such  a  thought  of 
one  I  should  pray  never  to  meet  again ! " 

And  so  the  little  soul  went  on  condemning  herself  in  those 
exaggerated  terms  which  the  religious  vocabulary  of  con 
ventual  life  furnished  ready-made  for  the  use  of  penitents 
of  every  degree,  till  by  the  time  she  arrived  at  the  convent 
she  could  scarcely  have  been  more  oppressed  with  a  sense 


328  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

of  sin,  if  she  hacl  murdered  her  grandmother  and  eloped  with 
the  cavalier. 

On  her  arrival  in  the  convent  court,  the  peaceful  and 
dreamy  stillness  contrasted  strangely  with  the  gorgeous 
brightness  of  the  day  outside.  The  splendid  sunshine,  the 
sparkling  sea,  the  songs  of  the  boatmen,  the  brisk  passage  of 
gliding  sails,  the  bright  hues  of  the  flowers  that  garlanded 
the  rocks,  all  seemed  as  if  the  earth  had  been  arrayed  for 
some  gala-day ;  but  the  moment  she  had  passed  the  portal, 
the  silent,  mossy  court,  with  its  pale  marble  nymph,  its 
lull  of  falling  water,  its  turf  snow-dropt  with  daisies  and 
fragrant  with  blue  and  white  violets,  and  the  surround 
ing  cloistered  walks,  with  their  pictured  figures  of  pious 
history,  all  came  with  a  sad  and  soothing  influence  on  her 
nerves. 

The  nuns,  who  had  heard  the  news  of  the  projected  pil 
grimage,  and  regarded  it  as  the  commencement  of  that 
saintly  career  which  they  had  always  predicted  for  her, 
crowded  around  her,  kissing  her  hands  and  her  robe,  and 
entreating  her  prayers  at  different  shrines  of  especial  sanctity 
that  she  might  visit. 

The  Mother  Theresa  took  her  to  her  cell,  and  there  hung 
round  her  neck,  by  a  golden  chain,  the  relic  which  she  de 
signed  for  her,  and  of  whose  genuineness  she  appeared  to 
possess  no  manner  of  doubt. 

"  But  how  pale  you  are,  my  sweet  child ! "  she  said. 
"  What  has  happened  to  alter  you  so  much  ?  Your  cheeks 
look  so  thin,  and  there  are  deep,  dark  circles  round  your 
eyes." 

"Ah,  my  mother,  it  is  because  of  my  sins." 

"  Your  sins,  dear  little  one !  What  sins  can  you  be 
guilty  of?" 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  329 

"  All,  my  dear  mother,  I  have  been  false  to  my  Lord,  and 
let  the  love  of  an  earthly  creature  into  my  heart." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ? "  said  the  mother. 

"  Alas,  dear  mother,  the  cavalier  who  sent  that  ring ! " 
said  Agnes,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Now  the  Mother  Theresa  had  never  left  the  walls  of  that 
convent  since  she  was  ten  years  old,  —  had  seen  no  men 
except  her  father  and  uncle,  who  once  or  twice  made  her  a 
short  call,  and  an  old  hunchback  who  took  care  of  their 
garden,  safe  in  his  armor  of  deformity.  Her  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  masculine  attractions  were,  therefore,  as  vague  as 
might  be  the  conceptions  of  the  eyeless  fishes  in  the  Mam 
moth  Cave  of  Kentucky  with  regard  to  the  fruits  and  flow 
ers  above  ground.  All  that  portion  of  her  womanly  nature 
which  might  have  throbbed  lay  in  a  dead  calm.  Still  there 
was  a  faint  flutter  of  curiosity,  as  she  pressed  Agnes  to  tell 
her  story,  which  she  did  with  many  pauses  and  sobs  and 
blushes. 

"  And  is  he  so  very  handsome,  my  little  heart  ?  "  she  said, 
after  listening.  "  What  makes  you  love  him  so  much  in  so 
little  time?" 

"  Yes,  —  he  is  beautiful  as  an  angel." 

"  I  never  saw  a  young  man,  really,"  said  the  Mother  The 
resa.  "  Uncle  Angelo  was  lame,  and  had  gray  hair  ;  and 
papa  was  very  fat,  and  had  a  red  face.  Perhaps  he  looks 
like  our  picture  of  Saint  Sebastian  ;  —  I  have  often  thought 
that  I  might  be  in  danger  of  loving  a  young  man  that  looked 
like  him." 

"  Oh.  he  is  more  beautiful  than  that  picture  or  any  pic 
ture  ! "  said  Agnes,  fervently  ;  "  and,  mother,  though  he  is 
excommunicated,  I  can't  help  feeling  that  he  is  as  good  as 
he  is  beautiful.  My  uncle  had  strong  hopes  that  he  should 


330  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

restore  him  to  the  True  Church  ;  and  to  pray  for  his  soul  I 
am  going  on  this  pilgrimage.  Father  Francesco  says,  if  I 
will  tear  away  and  overcome  this  love,  I  shall  gain  so  much 
merit  that  my  prayers  will  have  power  to  save  his  soul. 
Promise  me,  dear  mother,  that  you  and  all  the  sisters  will 
help  me  with  your  prayers  ;  —  help  me  to  work  out  this 
great  salvation,  and  then  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  come  back 
here  and  spend  all  my  life  in  prayer  ! " 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  331 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    MOUNTAIN   FORTRESS. 

AND  so  on  a  bright  spring  morning  our  pilgrims  started. 
Whoever  has  traversed  the  road  from  Sorrento  to  Naples, 
that  wonderful  path  along  the  high  rocky  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  must  remember  it  only  as  a  wild  dream  of 
enchantment.  On  one  side  lies  the  sea,  shimmering  in  bands 
of  blue,  purple,  and  green  to  the  swaying  of  gentle  winds, 
exhibiting  those  magical  shiftings  and  changes  of  color  pe 
culiar  to  these  waves.  Near  the  land  its  waters  are  of  pale, 
transparent  emerald,  while  farther  out  they  deepen  into  blue 
and  thence  into  a  violet-purple,  which  again,  towards  the 
horizon-line,  fades  into  misty  pearl-color.  The  shores  rise 
above  the  sea  in  wild,  bold  precipices,  grottoed  into  fantastic 
caverns  by  the  action  of  the  waves,  and  presenting  every 
moment  some  new  variety  of  outline.  As  the  path  of  the 
traveller  winds  round  promontories  whose  mountain-heights 
are  capped  by  white  villages  and  silvery  with  olive-groves, 
he  catches  the  enchanting  sea-view,  now  at  this  point,  and 
now  at  another,  with  Naples  glimmering  through  the  mists  in 
the  distance,  and  the  purple  sides  of  Vesuvius  ever  changing 
with  streaks  and  veins  of  cloud-shadows,  while  silver  vapors 
crown  the  summit.  Above  the  road  the  steep  hills  seem 
piled  up  to  the  sky,  —  every  spot  terraced,  and  cultivated 
with  some  form  of  vegetable  wealth,  and  the  wild,  untamable 
rocks  garlanded  over  with  golden  broom,  crimson  gilly 
flowers,  arid  a  thousand  other  bright  adornments.  The  road 


332  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

lies  through  villages  whose  gardens  and  orange-orchards  fill 
the  air  with  sweet  scents,  and  whose  rose-hedges  some 
times  pour  a  perfect  cascade  of  bloom  and  fragrance  over 
the  walls. 

Our  travellers  started  in  the  dewy  freshness  of  one  of 
those  gorgeous  days  which  seem  to  cast  an  illuminating 
charm  over  everything.  Even  old  Elsie's  stern  features 
relaxed  somewhat  under  the  balmy  influences  of  sun  and 
sky,  and  Agnes's  young,  pale  face  was  lit  up  with  a  brighter 
color  than  for  many  a  day  before.  Their  pilgrimage  through 
this  beautiful  country  had  few  incidents.  They  walked  in 
the  earlier  and  latter  parts  of  the  day,  reposing  a  few  hours 
at  noon  near  some  fountain  or  shrine  by  the  wayside,  — • 
often  experiencing  the  kindly  veneration  of  the  simple 
peasantry,  who  cheerfully  offered  them  refreshments,  and 
begged  their  prayers  at  the  holy  places  whither  they 
were  going. 

In  a  few  days  they  reached  Naples,  where  they  made  a 
little  stop  with  the  hospitable  family  to  whom  Jocunda  had 
recommended  them.  From  Naples  their  path  lay  through 
the  Pontine  Marshes ;  and  though  the  malaria  makes  this 
region  a  word  of  fear,  yet  it  is  no  less  one  of  strange,  soft, 
enchanting  beauty.  A  wide,  sea-like  expanse,  clothed  with 
an  abundance  of  soft,  rich  grass,  painted  with  golden  bands 
and  streaks  of  bright  yellow  flowers,  stretches  away  to  a 
purple  curtain  of  mountains,  whose  romantic  outline  rises 
constantly  in  a  thousand  new  forms  of  beauty.  The  upland 
at  the  foot  of  these  mountains  is  beautifully  diversified  with 
tufts  of  trees,  and  the  contrast  of  the  purple  softness  of  the 
distant  hills  with  the  dazzling  gold  and  emerald  of  the  wide 
meadow-tracts  they  enclose  is  a  striking  feature  in  the  land 
scape.  Droves  of  silver-haired  oxen,  with  their  great, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  833 

dreamy,  dark  eyes  and  polished  black  horns,  were  tran 
quilly  feeding  knee-deep  in  the  lush,  juicy  grass,  and  herds 
of  buffaloes,  uncouth,  but  harmless,  might  be  seen  pasturing 
or  reposing  in  the  distance.  On  either  side  of  the  way 
were  \vaving  tracts  of  yellow  fleur-de-lis,  and  beds  of  arum, 
with  its  arrowy  leaves  and  white  blossoms.  It  was  a 
wild  luxuriance  of  growth,  a  dreamy  stillness  of  solitude, 
so  lovely  that  one  could  scarce  remember  that  it  was 
deadly. 

Elsie  was  so  impressed  with  the  fear  of  the  malaria,  that 
she  trafficked  with  an  honest  peasant,  who  had  been  hired 
to  take  back  to  Rome  the  horses  which  had  been  used  to 
convey  part  of  the  suite  of  a  nobleman  travelling  to  Naples, 
to  give  them  a  quicker  passage  across  than  they  could  have 
made  on  foot.  It  is  true  that  this  was  quite  contrary  to  the 
wishes  of  Agnes,  who  felt  that  the  journey  ought  to  be  per 
formed  in  the  most  toilsome  and  self-renouncing  way,  and 
that  they  should  trust  solely  to  prayer  and  spiritual  protec 
tion  to  ward  off  the  pestilential  exhalations. 

In  vain  she  quoted  the  Psalm,  "Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid 
for  the  terror  by  night,  nor  for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day, 
nor  for  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness,  nor  for  the 
destruction  that  wasteth  at  noon-day,"  and  adduced  cases 
of  saints  who  had  walked  unhurt  through  all  sorts  of 
dangers. 

"  There  's  no  use  talking,  child,"  said  Elsie.  "  I  'm  older 
than  you,  and  have  seen  more  of  real  men  and  women ;  and 
whatever  they  did  in  old  times,  I  know  that  nowadays  the 
saints  don't  help  those  that  don't  take  care  of  themselves ; 
and  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  we  must  ride  across 
those  marshes,  and  get  out  of  them  as  quick  as  possible, 
or  we  shall  get  into  Paradise  quicker  than  we  want  to." 


334  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

In  common  with  many  other  professing  Christians,  Elsie 
felt  that  going  to  Paradise  was  the  very  dismallest  of  alter 
natives,  —  a  thing  to  be  staved  off  as  long  as  possible. 

After  many  days  of  journeying,  the  travellers,  somewhat 
weary  and  foot-sore,  found  themselves  in  a  sombre  and 
lonely  dell  of  the  mountains,  about  an  hour  before  the  going 
down  of  the  sun.  The  slanting  yellow  beams  turned  to  sil 
very  brightness  the  ashy  foliage  of  the  gnarled  old  olives, 
which  gaunt  and  weird  clung  with  their  great,  knotty,  strag 
gling  roots  to  the  rocky  mountain-sides.  Before  them,  the 
path,  stony,  steep,  and  winding,  was  rising  upward  and  still 
upward,  and  no  shelter  for  the  night  appeared,  except  in  a 
distant  mountain-town,  which,  perched  airily  as  an  eagle's 
nest  on  its  hazy  height,  reflected  from  the  dome  of  its  church 
and  its  half-ruined  old  feudal  tower  the  golden  light  of  sun 
set.  A  drowsy-toned  bell  was  ringing  out  the  Ave  Maria 
over  the  wide  purple  solitude  of  mountains,  whose  varying 
outlines  were  rising  around. 

"  You  are  tired,  my  little  heart,"  said  old  Elsie  to  Ag 
nes,  who  had  drooped  during  a  longer  walk  than  usual. 

"No,  grandmamma,"  said  Agnes,  sinking  on  her  knees 
to  repeat  her  evening  prayer,  which  she  did,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

Old  Elsie  kneeled  too  ;  but,  as  she  was  praying,  —  being 
a  thrifty  old  body  in  the  use  of  her  time,  —  she  cast  an  eye 
up  the  steep  mountain-path  and  calculated  the  distance  of 
the  little  airy  village.  Just  at  that  moment  she  saw  two 
or  three  horsemen,  who  appeared  to  be  stealthily  observing 
them  from  behind  the  shadow  of  some  large  rocks. 

When  their  devotions  were  finished,  she  hurried  on  her 
grandchild,  saying,  — 

"  Come,  dearie !  it  must  be  we  shall  find  a  shelter 
soon." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  335 

The  horsemen  now  rode  up  behind  them. 

"  Good-evening,  mother ! "  said  one  of  them,  speaking 
from  under  the  shadow  of  a  deeply  slouched  hat. 

Elsie  made  no  reply,  but  hurried  forward. 

"  Good-evening,  pretty  maid  !  "  he  said  again,  riding  still 
nearer. 

"  Go  your  ways  in  the  name  of  God,"  said  Elsie.  "  We 
are  pilgrims,  going  for  our  souls  to  Rome  ;  and  whoever  hin 
ders  us  will  have  the  saints  to  deal  with." 

"  Who  talks  of  hindering  you,  mother  ? "  responded  the 
other.  "  On  the  contrary,  we  come  for  the  express  purpose 
of  helping  you  along." 

"  We  want  none  of  your  help,"  said  Elsie,  gruffly. 

"  See,  now,  how  foolish  you  are  ! "  said  the  horseman. 
"  Don't  you  see  that  that  town  is  a  good  seven  miles  off,  and 
not  a  bit  of  bed  or  supper  to  be  had  till  you  get  there,  and 
the  sun  will  be  down  soon  ?  So  mount  up  behind  me,  and 
here  is  a  horse  for  the  little  one." 

In  fact,  the  horsemen  at  this  moment  opening  disclosed  to 
view  a  palfrey  with  a  lady's  saddle,  richly  caparisoned,  as  if 
for  a  person  of  condition.  With  a  sudden  movement,  two 
of  the  men  dismounted,  confronted  the  travellers,  and  the 
one  who  had  acted  as  spokesman,  approaching  Agnes,  said, 
in  a  tone  somewhat  imperative,  — 

"  Come,  young  lady,  it  is  our  master's  will  that  your  poor 
little  feet  should  have  some  rest." 

And  before  Agnes  could  remonstrate,  he  raised  her  into 
the  saddle  as  easily  as  if  she  had  been  a  puff  of  thistle-down, 
and  then  turning  to  Elsie,  he  said,  — 

"  For  you,  good  mother,  if  you  wish  to  keep  up,  you  must 
e'en  be  content  with  a  seat  behind  me." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  and  how  dare  you  ?  "  said  Elsie,  indig 
nantly. 


336  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

u  Good  mother,"  said  the  man,  u  you  see  God's  will  is  thpt 
you  should  submit,  because  we  are  four  to  you  two,  and  there 
are  fifty  more  within  call.  So  get  up  without  more  words, 
and  I  swear  by  the  Holy  Virgin  no  harm  shall  be  done 
you." 

Elsie  looked  and  saw  Agnes  already  some  distance  before 
her,  the  bridle  of  her  palfrey  being  held  by  one  of  the  horse 
men,  who  rode  by  her  side  and  seemed  to  look  after  her 
carefully ;  and  so,  without  more  ado,  she  accepted  the  ser 
vices  of  the  man,  and,  placing  her  foot  on  the  toe  of  his 
riding-boot,  mounted  to  the  crupper  behind  him. 

"  That  is  right,"  said  he.  "  Now  hold  on  to  me  lustily, 
and  be  not  afraid." 

So  saying,  the  whole  troop  began  winding  as  rapidly  as 
possible  up  the  steep,  rocky  path  to  the  mountain-town. 

Notwithstanding  the  surprise  and  alarm  of  this  most  unex 
pected  adventure,  Agnes,  who  had  been  at  the  very  point  of 
exhaustion  from  fatigue,  could  not  but  feel  the  sensation  of 
relief  and  repose  which  the  seat  in  an  easy  saddle  gave  her. 
The  mountain  air,  as  they  arose,  breathed  fresh  and  cold  on 
her  brow,  and  a  prospect  of  such  wondrous  beauty  unrolled 
beneath  her  feet  that  her  alarm  soon  became  lost  in  admira 
tion.  The  mountains  that  rose  everywhere  around  them 
seemed  to  float  in  a  transparent  sea  of  luminous  vapor,  with 
olive-orchards  and  well-tilled  fields  lying  in  far,  dreamy  dis 
tances  below,  while  out  towards  the  horizon  silver  gleams  of 
the  Mediterranean  gradually  widened  to  the  view.  Soothed 
by  the  hour,  refreshed  by  the  air,  and  filled  with  admiration 
for  the  beauty  of  all  she  saw,  she  surrendered  herself  to  her 
situation  with  a  feeling  of  solemn  religious  calm,  as  to  some 
unfolding  of  the  Divine  Will,  which  might  unroll  like  the 
landscape  beneath  her.  They  pursued  their  way  in  silence, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  337 

rising  higher  and  higher  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  deep 
valleys  below,  the  man  who  conducted  them  observing  a 
strict  reserve,  but  seeming  to  have  a  care  for  their  wel 
fare. 

The  twilight  yet  burned  red  in  the  sky,  and  painted  with 
solemn  lights  the  mossy  walls  of  the  little  old  town,  as  they 
plunged  under  a  sombre  antique  gate- way,  and  entered  on  a 
street  as  damp  and  dark  as  a  cellar,  which  went  up  almost 
perpendicularly  between  tall,  black  stone  walls  that  seemed 
to  have  neither  windows  nor  doors.  Agnes  could  only 
remember  clambering  upward,  turning  short  corners,  clatter 
ing  down  steep  stone  steps,  under  low  archways,  along 
narrow,  ill-smelling  passages,  where  the  light  that  seemed  so 
clear  without  the  town  was  almost  extinguished  in  utter 
night. 

At  last  they  entered  the  damp  court  of  a  l*uge,  irregular 
pile  of  stone  buildings.  Here  the  men  suddenly  drew  up, 
and  Agnes's  conductor,  dismounting,  came  and  took  her 
silently  from  her  saddle,  saying  briefly,  "  Come  this  way." 

Elsie  sprang  from  her  seat  in  a  moment,  and  placed 
herself  at  the  side  of  her  child. 

"  No,  good  mother,"  said  the  man  with  whom  she  had 
ridden,  seizing  her  powerfully  by  the  shoulders,  and  turning 
her  round. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Elsie,  fiercely.  "  Are  you 
going  to  keep  me  from  my  own  child?" 

"  Patience !  "  replied  the  man.  "  You  can't  help  yourself, 
so  recommend  yourself  to  God,  and  no  harm  shall  come  to 
you." 

Agnes  looked  back  at  her  grandmother. 

"Fear  not,  dear  grandmamma,"  she  said,  "the  blessed 
angels  will  watch  over  us." 
15 


338  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 

As  she  spoke,  she  followed  her  conductor  through  long, 
damp,  mouldering  passages,  and  up  flights  of  stone  steps,  and 
again  through  other  long  passages,  smelling  of  mould  and 
damp,  till  at  last  he  opened  the  door  of  an  apartment  from 
which  streamed  a  light  so  dazzling  to  the  eyes  of  Agnes  that 
at  first  she  could  form  no  distinct  conception  as  to  where 
she  was. 

As  soon  as  her  eyesight  cleared,  she  found  herself  in  an 
apartment  which  to  her  simplicity  seemed  furnished  with  an 
unheard-of  luxury.  The  walls  were  richly  frescoed  and 
gilded,  and  from  a  chandelier  of  Venetian  glass  the  light  fell 
upon  a  foot-cloth  of  brilliant  tapestry  which  covered  the 
marble  floor.  Gilded  chairs  and  couches,  covered  with  the 
softest  Genoese  velvet,  invited  to  repose ;  while  tables  inlaid 
with  choice  mosaics  stood  here  and  there,  sustaining  rare 
vases,  musicaljnstruments,  and  many  of  the  light,  fanciful 
ornaments  with  which,  in  those  days,  the  halls  of  women  of 
condition  were  graced.  At  one  end  of  the  apartment  was 
an  alcove,  where  the  rich  velvet  curtains  were  looped  away 
with  heavy  cords  and  tassels  of  gold,  displaying  a  smaller 
room,  where  was  a  bed  with  hangings  of  crimson  satin 
embroidered  with  gold. 

Agnes  stood  petrified  with  amazement,  and  put  her  hand 
to  her  head,  as  if  to  assure  herself  by  the  sense  of  touch 
that  she  was  not  dreaming,  and  then,  with  an  impulse  of 
curious  wonder,  began  examining  the  apartment.  The  rich 
furniture  and  the  many  adornments,  though  only  such  as 
were  common  in  the  daily  life  of  the  great  at  that  period, 
had  for  her  simple  eyes  all  the  marvellousness  of  the  most 
incredible  illusion.  She  touched  the  velvet  couches  almost 
with  fear,  and  passed  from  object  to  object  in  a  sort  of  maze. 
When  she  arrived  at  the  alcove,  she  thought  she  heard  a 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  339 

slight  rustling  within,  and  then  a  smothered  langh.  Her 
heart  beat  quick  as  she  stopped  to  listen.  There  was  a  titter 
ing  sound,  and  a  movement  as  if  some  one  were  shaking  the 
curtain,  and  at  last  Giulietta  stood  in  the  door-way. 

For  a  moment  Agnes  stood  looking  at  her  in  utter  bewil 
derment*  Yes,  surely  it  was  Giulietta,  dressed  out  in  all  the 
bravery  of  splendid  apparel,  her  black  hair  shining  and  lus 
trous,  great  solid  ear-rings  of  gold  shaking  in  her  ears,  and 
a  row  of  gold  coins  displayed  around  her  neck. 

She  broke  into  a  loud  laugh  at  the  sight  of  Agnes's 
astonished  face. 

"  So,  here  you  are  !  "  she  said.  "  Well,  now,  did  n't  I  tell 
you  so  ?  You  see  he  was  in  love  with  you,  just  as  I  said  ; 
and  if  you  would  n't  come  to  him  of  your  own  accord,  he 
must  fly  off  with  you." 

"  Oh,  Giulietta  !  "  said  Agnes,  springing  towards  her  and 
catching  her  hands,  "  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  and  where 
have  they  carried  poor  grandmamma  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  worry  about  her !  Do  you  know  you  are  in 
high  favor  here,  and  any  one  who  belongs  to  you  gets  good 
quarters?  Your  grandmother  just  now  is  at  supper,  I 
doubt  not,  with  my  mother ;  and  a  jolly  time  they  will  have 
of  it,  gossiping  together." 

"  Your  mother  here,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  simple,  to  be  sure  !  I  found  it  so  much  easier 
living  here  than  in  the  old  town,  that  I  sent  for  her,  that  she 
might  have  peace  in  her  old  age.  —  But  how  do  you  like 
your  room  ?  Were  you  not  astonished  to  see  it  so  brave  ? 
Know,  then,  pretty  one,  that  it  is  all  on  account  of  the  good 
courage  of  our  band.  For,  you  see,  the  people  there  in 
Rome  (we  won't  say  who)  had  given  away  all  our  captain's 
lands  and  palaces  and  villas  to  this  one  and  that,  as  pleased 


340  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

them ;  and  one  pretty  little  villa  in  the  mountains  not  far 
from  here  went  to  a  stout  old  cardinal.  What  does  a 
band  of  our  men  do,  one  night,  but  pounce  on  old  red-hat 
and  tie  him  up,  while  they  helped  themselves  to  what  they 
liked  through  the  house  ?  True,  they  could  n't  bring  house 
and  all ;  but  they  brought  stores  of  rich  furnishing,  *and  left 
him  thanking  the  saints  that  he  was  yet  alive.  So  we  ar 
ranged  your  rooms  right  nobly,  thinking  to  please  our  captain 
when  he  comes.  If  you  are  not  pleased,  you  will  be  ungrate 
ful,  that 's  all." 

"  Giulietta,"  said  Agnes,  who  had  scarcely  seemed  to  listen 
to  this  prattle,  so  anxious  was  she  to  speak  of  what  lay  near 
est  her  heart,  "  I  want  to  see  grandmamma.  Can't  you  bring 
her  to  me  ?  " 

"  No,  my  little  princess,  I  can't.  Do  you  know  you  are 
my  mistress  now  ?  Well,  you  are  ;  but  there 's  one  that 's 
master  of  us  both,  and  he  says  none  must  speak  with  you  till 
he  has  seen  you." 

"  And  is  he  here  ?  " 

"  No,  he  has  been  some  time  gone  Northward,  and  has  not 
returned,  —  though  we  expect  him  to-night.  So  compose 
yourself,  and  ask  for  anything  in  the  world,  but  to  see  your 
grandmother,  and  I  will  show  that  I  am  your  humble  servant 
to  command." 

So  saying,  Giulietta  courtesied  archly  and  laughed,  show 
ing  her  white,  shiny  teeth,  which  looked  as  bright  as  pearls. 

Agnes  sat  down  on  one  of  the  velvet  couches,  and  leaned 
her  head  on  her  hand. 

"  Come,  now,  let  me  bring  you  some  supper,"  said  Giu 
lietta.  "  What  say  you  to  a  nice  roast  fowl  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  speak  of  such  things  in  the  holy  time  of 
Lent  ?  "  said  Agnes. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  341 

"  Oh,  never  you  fear  about  that !  Our  holy  Father  Ste- 
fano  sets  such  matters  right  for  any  of  us  in  a  twinkling,  and 
especially  would  he  do  it  for  you." 

"  Oh,  but  Giulietta,  I  don't  want  anything.  I  could  n't  eat, 
if  I  were  to  try." 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta !  "  said  Giulietta,  going  out.  "  Wait  till  you 
smell  it.  I  shall  be  back  in  a  little  while." 

And  she  left  the  room,  locking  the  door  after  her. 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned,  bearing  a  rich  silver  tray, 
on  which  was  a  covered  dish  that  steamed  a  refreshing  odor, 
together  with  a  roll  of  white  bread,  and  a  small  glass  flacon 
containing  a  little  choice  wine. 

By  much  entreaty  and  coaxing,  Agnes  was  induced  to 
partake  of  the  bread,  enough  to  revive  her  somewhat  after 
the  toils  of  the  day ;  and  then,  a  little  reassured  by  the 
familiar  presence  of  Giulietta,  she  began  to  undress,  her 
former  companion  officiously  assisting  her. 

"  There,  now,  you  are  tired,  my  lady  princess,"  she  said. 
"I'll  unlace  your  bodice.  One  of  these  days  your  gowns 
will  be  all  of  silk,  and  stiff  with  gold  and  pearls." 

"  Oh,  Giulietta,"  said  Agnes,  "  don't !  —  let  me,  —  I  don't 
need  help/' 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta !  —  you  must  learn  to  be  waited  on,"  said 
Giulietta,  persisting.  "  But,  Holy  Virgin  !  what  is  the 
matter  here?  Oh,  Agnes,  what  are  you  doing  to  your 
self?" 

"It's  a  penance,  Giulietta,"  said  Agnes,  her  face  flush 
ing. 

u  Well,  I  should  think  it  was  !  Father  Francesco  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself;  he  is  a  real  butcher!" 

"  He  does  it  to  save  my  soul,  Giulietta.  The  cross  of  our 
Lord  without  will  heal  a  deadly  wound  within." 


342  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

In  her  heart,  Giulietta  had  somewhat  of  secret  reverence 
for  such  austerities,  which  the  whole  instruction  of  her  time 
and  country  taught  her  to  regard  as  especially  saintly.  Peo 
ple  who  live  in  the  senses  more  than  in  the  world  of  reflec 
tion  feel  the  force  of  such  outward  appeals.  Giulietta  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  looked  grave  for  several  min 
utes. 

"  Poor  little  dove  !  "  she  said  at  last,  "  if  your  sins  must 
needs  be  expiated  so,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  It  must  be 
that  you  will  lay  up  stores  of  merit  with  God ;  for  surely 
your  sins  do  not  need  all  this.  Agnes,  you  will  be  a  saint 
some  day,  like  your  namesake  at  the  Convent,  I  truly  do 
believe." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Giulietta !  don't  talk  so  !  God  knows  I 
wrestle  with  forbidden  thoughts  all  the  while.  I  am  no  saint, 
but  the  chief  of  sinners." 

"  That 's  what  the  saints  all  say,"  said  Giulietta.  "  But, 
my  dear  princess,  when  he  comes,  he  will  forbid  this ;  he  is 
lordly,  and  will  not  suffer  his  little  wife  " 

"  Giulietta,  don't  speak  so,  —  I  cannot  hear  it,  —  I  must 
not  be  his  wife,  —  I  am  vowed  to  be  the  spouse  of  the 
Lord." 

"  And  yet  you  love  our  handsome  prince,"  said  Giulietta ; 
"and  there  is  the  great  sin  you  are  breaking  your  little 
heart  about.  Well,  now,  it 's  all  of  that  dry,  sour  old  Father 
Francesco.  I  never  could  abide  him,  —  he  made  such 
dismal  pother  about  sin  ;  old  Father  Girolamo  was  worth  a 
dozen  of  him.  If  you  would  just  see  our  good  Father 
Stefano,  now,  he  would  set  your  mind  at  ease  about  your 
vows  in  a  twinkling  ;  and  you  must  needs  get  them  loosed, 
for  our  captain  is  born  to  command,  and  when  princes  stoop 
to  us  peasant-girls,  it  is  n't  for  us  to  say  nay.  It 's  being 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  343 

good  as  Saint  Michael  himself  for  him  to  think  of  you  only 
in  the  holy  way  of  marriage.  I'll  warrant  me,  there's 
many  a  lord  cardinal  at  Rome  that  is  n't  so  good ;  and  as  to 
princes,  he  is  one  of  a  thousand,  a  most  holy  and  religious 
knight,  or  he  would  do  as  others  do  when  they  have  the 
power." 

Agnes,  confused  and  agitated,  turned  away,  and,  as  if 
seeking  refuge,  laid  her  down  in  the  bed,  looking  timidly  up 
at  the  unwonted  splendor,  —  and  then,  hiding  her  face  in  the 
pillow,  began  repeating  a  prayer. 

Giulietta  sat  by  her  a  moment,  till  she  felt,  from  the  relax 
ing  of  the  little  hand,  that  the  reaction  of  fatigue  and  intense 
excitement  was  beginning  to  take  place.  Nature  would 
assert  her  rights,  and  the  heavy  curtain  of  sleep  fell  on  the 
weary  little  head.  Quietly  extinguishing  the  lights,  Giulietta 
left  the  room,  locking  the  door. 


344  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    CRISIS. 

AGNES  was  so  entirely  exhausted  with  bodily  fatigue  and 
mental  agitation  that  she  slept  soundly  till  awakened  by  the 
beams  of  the  morning  sun.  Her  first  glance  up  at  the  gold- 
embroidered  curtains  of  her  bed  occasioned  a  bewildered 
surprise  ;  —  she  raised  herself  and  looked  around,  slowly 
recovering  her  consciousness  and  the  memory  of  the  strange 
event  which  had  placed  her  where  she  was.  She  rose  hastily 
and  went  to  the  window  to  look  out.  This  window  was  in  a 
kind  of  circular  tower  projecting  from  the  side  of  the  build 
ing,  such  as  one  often  sees  in  old  Norman  architecture  ;  — 
it  overhung  not  only  a  wall  of  dizzy  height,  but  a  precipice 
with  a  sheer  descent  of  some  thousand  feet ;  and  far  below, 
spread  out  like  a  map  in  the  distance,  lay  a  prospect  of  en 
chanting  richness.  The  eye  might  wander  over  orchards  of 
silvery  olives,  plantations  with  their  rows  of  mulberry-trees 
supporting  the  vines,  now  in  the  first  tender  spring  green, 
scarlet  fields  of  clover,  and  patches  where  the  young  corn 
was  just  showing  its  waving  blades  above  the  brown  soil. 
Here  and  there  rose  tufts  of  stone-pines  with  their  dark 
umbrella-tops  towering  above  all  other  foliage,  while  far  off 
in  the  blue  distance  a  silvery  belt  of  glittering  spangles 
showed  where  the  sea  closed  in  the  horizon-line.  So  high 
was  the  perch,  so  distant  and  dreamy  the  prospect,  that 
Agnes  felt  a  sensation  of  giddiness,  as  if  she  were  suspended 
over  it  in  the  air,  —  and  turned  away  from  the  window,  to 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  345 

look  again  at  what  seemed  to  her  the  surprising  and  unheard- 
of  splendors  of  the  apartment.  There  lay  her  simple  peas 
ant  garb  on  the  rich  velvet  couch,  —  a  strange  sight  in  the 
midst  of  so  much  luxury.  Having  dressed  herself,  she  sat 
down,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  tried  to  reflect 
calmly  on  the  position  in  which  she  was  placed. 

With  the  education  she  had  received,  she  could  look  on 
this  strange  interruption  of  her  pilgrimage  only  as  a  special 
assault  upon  her  faith,  instigated  by  those  evil  spirits  that 
are  ever  setting  themselves  in  conflict  with  the  just.  Such 
trials  had  befallen  saints  of  whom  she  had  read.  They  had 
been  assailed  by  visions  of  worldly  ease  and  luxury  suddenly 
presented  before  them,  for  which  they  were  tempted  to  deny 
their  faith  and  sell  their  souls.  Was  it  not,  perhaps,  as  a 
punishment  for  having  admitted  the  love  of  an  excommuni 
cated  heretic  into  her  heart,  that  this  sore  trial  had  been  per 
mitted  to  come  upon  her  ?  And  if  she  should  fail  ?  She 
shuddered,  when  she  recalled  the  severe  and  terrible  manner 
in  which  Father  Francesco  had  warned  her  against  yielding 
to  the  solicitations  of  an  earthly  love.  To  her  it  seemed  as 
if  that  holy  man  must  have  been  inspired  with  a  prophetic 
foresight  of  her  present  position,  and  warned  her  against  it. 
Those  awful  words  came  burning  into  her  mind  as  when 
they  seemed  to  issue  like  the  voice  of  a  spirit  from  the 
depths  of  the  confessional :  —  "If  ever  you  should  yield  to 
his  love,  and  turn  back  from  this  heavenly  marriage  to 
follow  him,  you  will  accomplish  his  damnation  and  your 
own." 

Agnes  trembled  in  an  agony  of  real  belief,  and  with  a 

vivid  terror  of  the  world  to  come  such  as  belonged  to  the 

almost  physical  certainty  with  which  the  religious  teaching 

of  her  time  presented  it  to  the  popular  mind.     Was  she, 

15* 


346  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

indeed,  the  cause  of  such  awful  danger  to  his  soul  ?  Might 
a  false  step  now,  a  faltering  human  weakness,  indeed  plunge 
that  soul,  so  dear,  into  a  fiery  abyss  without  bottom  or  shore  ? 
Should  she  forever  hear  his  shrieks  of  torture  and  despair, 
his  curses  on  the  hour  he  had  first  known  her  ?  Her  very 
blood  curdled,  her  nerves  froze,  as  she  thought  of  it,  and 
she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  and  prayed  with  an  anguish 
that  brought  the  sweat  in  beaded  drops  to  her  forehead,  — 
strange  dew  for  so  frail  a  lily !  —  and  her  prayer  rose  above 
all  intercession  of  saints,  above  the  seat  even  of  the  Virgin 
Mother  herself,  to  the  heart  of  her  Redeemer,  to  Him  who 
some  divine  instinct  told  her  was  alone  mighty  to  save.  We 
of  the  present  day  may  look  on  her  distress  as  unreal,  as  the 
result  of  a  misguided  sense  of  religious  obligation ;  but  the 
great  Hearer  of  Prayer  regards  each  heart  in  its  own  scope 
of  vision,  and  helps  not  less  the  mistaken  than  the  enlight 
ened  distress.  And  for  that  matter,  who  is  enlightened? 
who  carries  to  God's  throne  a  trouble  or  a  temptation  in 
which  there  is  not  somewhere  a  misconception  or  a  mistake  ? 
And  so  it  came  to  pass.  Agnes  rose  from  prayer  with  an 
experience  which  has  been  common  to  the  members  of  the 
True  Invisible  Church,  whether  Catholic,  Greek,  or  Protes 
tant.  "  In  the  day  when  I  cried  Thou  answeredst  me,  and 
strengthenedst  me  with  strength  in  my  soul."  She  had  that 
vivid  sense  of  the  sustaining  presence  and  sympathy  of  an 
Almighty  Saviour  which  is  the  substance  of  which  all  relig 
ious  forms  and  appliances  are  the  shadows  ;  her  soul  was 
stayed  on  God,  and  was  at  peace,  as  truly  as  if  she  had  been 
the  veriest  Puritan  maiden  that  ever  worshipped  in  a  New- 
England  meeting-house.  She  felt  a  calm  superiority  to  all 
things  earthly,  —  a  profound  reliance  on  that  invisible  aid 
which  comes  from  God  alone. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  347 

She  was  standing  at  her  window,  deep  in  thought,  when 
Giulietta  entered,  —  fresh  and  blooming,  —  bearing  the 
breakfast-tray. 

"  Come,  my  little  princess,  here  I  am,"  she  said,  "  with 
your  breakfast !  How  do  you  find  yourself,  this  morn 
ing  ?" 

Agnes  came  towards  her. 

"  Bless  us,  how  grave  we  are  !  "  said  Giulietta.  "  What 
has  come  over  us?" 

"  Giulietta,  have  you  seen  poor  grandmamma  this  morn 
ing?" 

"  Poor  grandmamma  !  "  said  Giulietta,  mimicking  the  sad 
tone  in  which  Agnes  spoke,  —  "to  be  sure  I  have.  I  left 
her  making  a  hearty  breakfast.  So  fall  to,  and  do  the 
same,  —  for  you  don't  know  who  may  come  to  see  you  this 
morning." 

"  Giulietta,  is  he  here  ?  " 

"  He  !  "  said  Giulietta,  laughing.  "  Do  hear  the  little 
bird  !  It  begins  to  chirp  already  !  No,  he  is  not  here  yet ; 
but  Pietro  says  he  will  come  soon,  and  Pietro  knows  all  his 
movements." 

"  Pietro  is  your  husband  ?  "  said  Agnes,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  —  and  a  pretty  good  one,  too,  as  men 
go,"  said  Giulietta.  "  They  are  sorry  bargains,  the  best  of 
them.  But  you  '11  get  a  prize,  if  you  play  your  cards  well. 
Do  you  know  that  the  King  of  Naples  and  the  King  of 
France  have  both  sent  messages  to  our  captain  ?  Our  men 
hold  all  the  passes  between  Rome  and  Naples,  and  so  every 
one  sees  the  sense  of  gaining  our  captain's  favor.  But  eat 
your  breakfast,  little  one,  while  I  go  and  see  to  Pietro  and 
the  men." 

So  saying,  she  bustled  out  of  the  room,  locking  the  door 
behind  her. 


348  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

Agnes  took  a  little  bread  and  water,  —  resolved  to  fast 
and  pray,  as  the  only  defence  against  the  danger  in  which 
she  stood. 

After  breakfasting,  she  retired  into  the  inner  room,  and, 
opening  the  window,  sat  down  and  looked  out  on  the  pros 
pect,  and  then,  in  a  low  voice,  began  singing  a  hymn  of 
Savonarola's,  which  had  been  taught  her  by  her  uncle.  It 
was  entitled  "  Christ's  Call  to  the  Soul."  The  words  were 
conceived  in  that  tender  spirit  of  mystical  devotion  which 
characterizes  all  this  class  of  productions. 

"  Fair  soul,  created  in  the  primal  hour, 

Once  pure  and  grand, 
And  for  whose  sake  I  left  my  throne  and  power 

At  God's  right  hand, 

By  this  sad  heart  pierced  through  because  I  loved  thee, 
Let  love  and  mercy  to  contrition  move  thee ! 

"  Cast  off  the  sins  thy  holy  beauty  veiling, 

Spirit  divine ! 
Vain  against  thee  the  hosts  of  hell  assailing: 

My  strength  is  thine ! 

Drink  from  my  side  the  cup  of  life  immortal, 
And  love  will  lead  thee  back  to  heaven's  portal ! 

"  I,  for  thy  sake,  was  pierced  with  many  sorrows, 

And  bore  the  cross, 
Yet  heeded  not  the  galling  of  the  arrows, 

The  shame  and  loss. 

So  faint  not  thou,  whate'er  the  burden  be : 
But  bear  it  bravely,  even  to  Calvary!  " 

While  Agnes  was  singing,  the  door  of  the  outer  room 
was  slowly  opened,  and  Agostino  Sarelli  entered.  He  had 
just  returned  from  Florence,  having  ridden  day  and  night 
to  meet  her  whom  he  expected  to  find  within  the  walls  of 
his  fastness. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  349 

He  entered  so  softly  that  Agnes  did  not  hear  his  approach, 
and  he  stood  listening  to  her  singing.  He  had  come  back 
with  his  mind  burning  with  indignation  against  the  Pope 
and  the  whole  hierarchy  then  ruling  in  Rome  ;  but  conver 
sation  with  Father  Antonio  and  the  scenes  he  had  witnessed 
at  San  Marco  had  converted  the  blind  sense  of  personal 
wrong  into  a  fixed  principle  of  moral  indignation  and  oppo 
sition.  He  no  longer  found  himself  checked  by  the  plead 
ing  of  his  early  religious  recollections  ;  for  now  he  had  a 
leader  who  realized  in  his  own  person  all  his  conceptions  of 
those  primitive  apostles  and  holy  bishops  who  first  fed  the 
flock  of  the  Lord  in  Italy.  He  had  heard  from  his  lips  the 
fearless  declaration,  "  If  Rome  is  against  me,  know  that  it  is 
not  contrary  to  me,  but  to  Christ,  and  its  controversy  is  with 
God  :  doubt  not  that  God  will  conquer  ;  "  and  he  embraced 
the  cause  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  patriotism  and  knight 
hood.  In  his  view,  the  most  holy  place  of  his  religion  had 
been  taken  by  a  robber,  who  reigned  in  the  name  of  Christ 
only  to  disgrace  it ;  and  he  felt  called  to  pledge  his  sword, 
his  life,  his  knightly  honor  to  do  battle  against  him.  He 
had  urged  his  uncle  in  Milan  to  make  interest  for  the  cause 
of  Savonarola  with  the  King  of  France ;  and  his  uncle,  with 
that  crafty  diplomacy  which  in  those  days  formed  the  staple 
of  what  was  called  statesmanship,  had  seemed  to  listen  favor 
ably  to  his  views,  —  intending,  however,  no  more  by  his  ap 
parent  assent  than  to  withdraw  his  nephew  from  the  dangers 
in  which  he  stood  in  Italy,  and  bring  him  under  his  own 
influence  and  guardianship  in  the  court  of  France.  But  the 
wily  diplomats  had  sent  Agostino  Sarelli  from  his  presence 
with  the  highest  possible  expectations  of  his  influence  both 
with  the  King  of  France  and  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
in  the  present  religious  crisis  in  Italy. 


350  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

And  now  the  time  was  come,  Agostino  thought,  to  break 
the  spell  under  which  Agnes  was  held,  —  to  show  her  the 
true  character  of  the  men  whom  she  wyas  beholding  through 
a  mist  of  veneration  arising  entirely  from  the  dewy  fresh 
ness  of  ignorant  innocence.  All  the  way  home  from  Flor 
ence  he  had  urged  his  horse  onward,  burning  to  meet  her. 
to  tell  her  all  that  he  knew  and  felt,  to  claim  her  as  his  own, 
and  to  take  her  into  the  sphere  of  light  and  liberty  in  which 
he  himself  moved.  He  did  not  doubt  his  power,  when  she 
should  once  be  where  he  could  speak  with  her  freely,  with 
out  fear  of  interruption.  Hers  was  a  soul  too  good  and 
pure,  he  said,  to  be  kept  in  chains  of  slavish  ignorance  any 
longer.  When  she  ceased  singing,  he  spoke  from  the  outer 
apartment,  —  "  Agnes !  " 

The  name  was  uttered  in  the  softest  tone,  but  it  sent 
the  blood  to  her  heart,  as  if  it  were  the  summons  of  doom. 
Everything  seemed  to  swim  before  her,  and  grow  dark  for 
a  moment ;  but  by  a  strong  effort  she  lifted  her  heart  in 
prayer,  and,  rising,  came  towards  him. 

Agostino  had  figured  her  to  himself  in  all  that  soft  and 
sacred  innocence  and  freshness  of  bloom  in  which  he  had 
left  her,  a  fair  angel  child,  looking  through  sad,  innocent 
eyes  on  a  life  whose  sins  and  sorrows,  and  deeper  loves  and 
hates,  she  scarcely  comprehended,  —  one  that  he  might  fold 
in  his  arms  with  protecting  tenderness,  while  he  gently 
reasoned  with  her  fears  and  prejudices ;  but  the  figure  that 
stood  there  in  the  curtained  arch,  with  its  solemn,  calm, 
transparent  paleness  of  face,  its  large,  intense  dark  eyes, 
now  vivid  with  some  mysterious  and  concentrated  resolve, 
struck  a  strange  chill  over  him.  Was  it  Agnes  or  a  disem 
bodied  spirit  that  stood  before  him  ?  For  a  few  moments 
there  fell  such  a  pause  between  them  as  the  intensity  of 


AGXES  OF  SORRENTO.  351 

some  unexpressed  feeling  often  brings  with  it,  and  which 
seems  like  a  spell. 

"Agnes  !  Agnes  !  is  it  you  ?"  at  last  said  the  knight,  in  a 
low,  hesitating  tone.  "  Oh,  my  love,  what  has  changed  you 
so  ?  Speak  !  —  do  speak  !  Are  you  angry  with  me  ?  Are 
you  angry  that  I  brought  you  here?" 

"  My  Lord,  I  am  not  angry,"  said  Agnes,  speaking  in  a 
cold,  sad  tone;  "but  you  have  committed  a  great  sin  in 
turning  aside  those  vowed  to  a  holy  pilgrimage,  and  you 
tempt  me  to  sin  by  this  conversation,  which  ought  not  to  be 
between  us." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Agostino.  "  You  would  not  see  me  at 
Sorrento.  I  sought  to  warn  you  of  the  dangers  of  this  pil 
grimage, —  to  tell  you  that  Rome  is  not  what  you  think  it  is, 
—  that  it  is  not  the  seat  of  Christ,  but  a  foul  cage  of  unclean 
birds,  a  den  of  wickedness,  —  that  he  they  call  Pope  is  a 
vile  impostor" 

"  My  Lord,"  said  Agnes,  speaking  with  a  touch  of  some 
thing  even  commanding  in  her  tone,  "  you  have  me  at  ad 
vantage,  it  is  true,  but  you  ought  not  to  use  it  in  trying  to 
ruin  my  soul  by  blaspheming  holy  things."  And  then  she 
added,  in  a  tone  of  indescribable  sadness,  "Alas,  that  so 
noble  and  beautiful  a  soul  should  be  in  rebellion  against  the 
only  True  Church  !  Have  you  forgotten  that  good  mother 
you  spoke  of?  What  must  she  feel  to  know  that  her  son  is 
an  infidel!" 

"  I  am  not  an  infidel,  Agnes  ;  I  am  a  true  knight  of  our 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  and  a  believer  in  the  One 
True,  Holy  Church." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  "  said  Agnes.  "  Ah,  seek  not  to  de 
ceive  me  !  My  Lord,  such  a  poor  little  girl  as  I  am  is  not 
worth  the  pains." 


352  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  By  the  Holy  Mother,  Agnes,  by  the  Holy  Cross,  I  do 
not  seek  to  deceive  you  !  I  speak  on  my  honor  as  a  knight 
and  gentleman.  I  love  you  truly  and  honorably,  and  seek 
you  among  all  women  as  my  spotless  wife,  and  would  I  lie 
to  you?" 

"  My  Lord,  you  have  spoken  words  which  it  is  a  sin  for 
me  to  hear,  a  peril  to  your  soul  to  say  ;  and  if  you  had  not, 
you  must  not  seek  me  as  a  wife.  Holy  vows  are  upon  me. 
I  must  be  the  wife  of  no  man  here  ;  it  is  a  sin  even  to  think 
of  it." 

"  Impossible,  Agnes  !  "  said  Agostino,  with  a  start.  "  You 
have  not  taken  the  veil  already  ?  If  you  had  " 

"  No,  my  Lord,  I  have  not.  I  have  only  promised  and 
vowed  in  my  heart  to  do  so  when  the  Lord  shall  open  the 
way." 

"  But  such  vows,  dear  Agnes,  are  often  dispensed ;  they 
may  be  loosed  by  the  priest.  Now  hear  me,  —  only  hear 
me.  I  believe  as  your  uncle  believes,  —  your  good,  pious 
uncle,  whom  you  love  so  much.  I  have  taken  the.  sacra 
ment  from  his  hand ;  he  has  blessed  me  as  a  son.  I  believe 
as  Jerome  Savonarola  believes.  He  it  is,  that  holy  prophet, 
who  has  proclaimed  this  Pope  and  his  crew  to  be  vile  usur 
pers,  reigning  in  the  name  of  Christ." 

"  My  Lord  !  my  Lord  !  I  must  not  hear  more !  I  must 
not,  —  I  cannot,  —  I  will  not !  "  said  Agnes,  becoming  vio 
lently  agitated,  as  she  found  herself  listening  with  interest  to 
the  pleadings  of  her  lover. 

"  Oh,  Agnes,  what  has  turned  your  heart  against  me  ?  I 
thought  you  promised  to  love  me  a  little  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hush  !  hush  !  don't  plead  with  me !  "  she  said,  with 
a  wild,  affrighted  look. 

He  sought  to  come  towards  her,  and  she  sprang  forward 
and  threw  herself  at  his  feet. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  353 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,  for  mercy's  sake  let  me  go !  Let  us  go 
on  our  way  !  We  will  pray  for  you  always,  —  yes,  always  I" 
And  she  looked  up  at  him  in  an  agony  of  earnestness. 

"  Am  I  so  hateful  to  you,  then,  Agnes  ?  " 

"  Hateful  ?  Oh,  no,  no !  God  knows  you  are I  — 

I  —  yes,  I  love  you  too  well,  and  you  have  too  much  power 
over  me  ;  but,  oh,  do  not  use  it !  If  I  hear  you  talk  I  shall 
yield,  —  I  surely  shall,  and  we  shall  be  lost,  both  of  us ! 
Oh,  my  God  !  I  shall  be  the  means  of  your  damnation  ! " 

"  Agnes ! " 

"  It  is  true  !  it  is  true !  Oh,  do  not  talk  to  me,  but  prom 
ise  me,  promise  me,  or  I  shall  die  !  Have  pity  on  me !  have 
pity  on  yourself! " 

In  the  agony  of  her  feelings  her  voice  became  almost 
a  shriek,  and  her  wild,  affrighted  face  had  a  deadly  pal 
lor;  she  looked  like  one  in  a  death-agony.  Agostino  was 
alarmed,  and  hastened  to  soothe  her,  by  promising  whatever 
she  required. 

"  Agnes,  dear  Agnes,  I  submit ;  only  be  calm.  I  prom 
ise  anything,  —  anything  in  the  wide  world  you  can  ask." 

"Will  you  let  me  go?" 

«  Yes." 

"  And  will  you  let  my  poor  grandmamma  go  with  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  will  not  talk  with  me  any  more  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  do  not  wish  it.  And  now,"  he  said,  "  that  I 
have  submitted  to  all  these  hard  conditions,  will  you  suffer 
me  to  raise  you?" 

He  took  her  hands  and  lifted  her  up;  they  were  cold, 
and  she  was  trembling  and  shivering.  He  held  them  a 
moment ;  she  tried  to  withdraw  them,  and  he  let  them  go. 

"  Farewell,  Agnes  ! "  he  said.     "  I  am  going." 


354  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

She  raised  both  her  hands  and  pressed  the  sharp  cross  to 
her  bosom,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  I  yield  to  your  will,"  he  continued.  "  Immediately  when 
I  leave  you,  your  grandmother  will  come  to  you,  and  the 
attendants  who  brought  you  here  will  conduct  you  to  the 
high-road.  For  me,  since  it  is  your  will,  I  part  here. 
Farewell,  Agnes  ! " 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she  stood  as  before,  pale  and 
silent,  with  her  hands  clasped  on  her  breast. 

"  Do  your  vows  forbid  even  a  farewell  to  a  poor,  humble 
friend  ? "  said  the  knight,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Agnes,  speaking  at  broken  intervals,  in  a 
suffocating  voice,  —  "  for  your  sake  I  cannot !  I  bear  this 
pain  for  you,  —  for  you !  Oh,  repent,  and  meet  me  in 
heaven !  " 

She  gave  him  her  hand ;  he  kneeled  and  kissed  it,  pressed 
it  to  his  forehead,  then  rose  and  left  the  room. 

For  a  moment  after  the  departure  of  the  cavalier,  Agnes 
felt  a  bitter  pang,  —  the  pain  which  one  feels  on  first  realiz 
ing  that  a  dear  friend  is  lost  forever ;  and  then,  rousing  her 
self  with  a  start  and  a  sigh,  she  hurried  into  the  inner  room 
and  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  giving  thanks  that  the 
dreadful  trial  was  past,  and  that  she  had  not  been  left  to 
fail. 

In  a  few  moments  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  grandmother 
in  the  outer  apartment,  and  the  old  wrinkled  creature  clasped 
her  grandchild  in  her  arms,  and  wept  with  a  passionate  aban 
donment  of  fondness,  calling  her  by  every  tender  and  endear 
ing  name  which  mothers  give  to  their  infants. 

"  After  all,"  said  Elsie,  "  these  are  not  such  bad  people, 
and  I  have  been  right  well  entertained  among  them.  They 
are  of  ourselves,  —  they  do  not  prey  on  the  poor,  but  only 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  355 

on  our  enemies,  the  princes  and  nobles,  who  look  on  us  as 
sheep  to  be  shorn  and  slaughtered  for  their  wearing  and 
eating.  These  men  are  none  such,  but  pitiful  to  poor  peas 
ants  and  old  widows,  whom  they  feed  and  clothe  out  of  the 
spoils  of  the  rich.  As  to  their  captain,  —  would  you  believe 
it  ?  —  he  is  the  same  handsome  gentleman  who  once  gave 
you  a  ring,  —  you  may  have  forgotten  him,  as  you  never 
think  of  such  things,  but  I  knew  him  in  a  moment,  —  and 
such  a  religious  man,  that  no  sooner  did  he  find  that  we  were 
pilgrims  on  a  holy  errand,  than  he  gave  orders  to  have  us 
set  free  with  all  honor,  and  a  band  of  the  best  of  them  to 
escort  us  through  the  mountains ;  and  the  people  of  the  town 
are  all  moved  to  do  us  reverence,  and  coming  with  garlands 
and  flowers  to  wish  us  well  and  ask  our  prayers.  So  let  us 
set  forth  immediately." 

Agnes  followed  her  grandmother  through  the  long  pas 
sages  and  down  the  dark,  mouldy  stairway  to  the  court-yard, 
where  two  horses  were  standing  caparisoned  for  them.  A 
troop  of  men  in  high  peaked  hats,  cloaked  and  plumed, 
were  preparing  also  to  mount,  while  a  throng  of  women  and 
children  stood  pressing  around.  When  Agnes  appeared, 
enthusiastic  cries  were  heard :  "  Viva  Jesu ! "  "  Viva  Ma 
ria  ! "  "  Viva !  viva  Jesu !  nostro  Re !  "  and  showers  of 
myrtle-branches  and  garlands  fell  around.  "  Pray  for  us  !  " 
"  Pray  for  us,  holy  pilgrims  ! "  was  uttered  eagerly  by  one 
and  another.  Mothers  held  up  their  children ;  and  beggars 
and  cripples,  aged  and  sick,  —  never  absent  in  an  Italian 
town,  —  joined  with  loud  cries  in  the  general  enthusiasm. 
Agnes  stood  amid  it  all,  pale  and  serene,  with  that  elevated 
expression  of  heavenly  calm  on  her  features  which  is  often 
the  clear  shining  of  the  soul  after  the  wrench  and  torture  of 
Borne  great  interior  conflict.  She  felt  that  the  last  earthly 


356  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

chain  was  broken,  and  that  now  she  belonged  to  Heaven 
alone.  She  scarcely  saw  or  heard  what  was  around  her, 
wrapt  in  the  calm  of  inward  prayer. 

"  Look  at  her !  she  is  beautiful  as  the  Madonna ! "  said 
one  and  another.  "  She  is  divine  as  Santa  Catarina ! " 
said  others.  "  She  might  have  been  the  wife  of  our  chief, 
who  is  a  nobleman  of  the  oldest  blood,  but  she  chose  to  be 
the  bride  of  the  Lord,"  said  others:  for  Giulietta,  with  a 
woman's  love  of  romancing,  had  not  failed  to  make  the 
most  among  her  companions  of  the  love-adventures  of 
Agnes. 

Agnes  meanwhile  was  seated  on  her  palfrey,  and  the 
whole  train  passed  out  of  the  court-yard  into  the  dim,  nar 
row  street,  —  men,  women,  and  children  following.  On 
reaching  the  public  square,  they  halted  a  moment  by  the 
side  of  the  antique  fountain  to  water  their  horses.  The 
groups  that  surrounded  it  at  this  time  were  such  as  a 
painter  would  have  delighted  to  copy.  The  women  arid 
girls  of  this  obscure  mountain-town  had  all  that  peculiar 
beauty  of  form  and  attitude  which  appears  in  the  studies  of 
the  antique ;  and  as  they  poised  on  their  heads  their  copper 
water-jars  of  the  old  Etruscan  pattern,  they  seemed  as  if 
they  might  be  statues  of  golden  bronze,  had  not  the  warm 
tints  of  their  complexion,  the  brilliancy  of  their  large  eyes, 
and  the  bright  picturesque  colors  of  their  attire  given  the 
richness  of  painting  to  their  classic  outlines.  Then,  too,  the 
men,  with  their  finely-moulded  limbs,  their  figures  so  straight 
and  strong  and  elastic,  their  graceful  attitudes,  and  their 
well-fitting,  showy  costumes,  formed  a  no  less  imposing  fea 
ture  in  the  scene.  Among  them  all  sat  Agnes  waiting  on 
her  palfrey,  seeming  scarcely  conscious  of  the  enthusiasm 
which  surrounded  her.  Some  admiring  friend  had  placed 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  357 

in  her  hand  a  large  bough  of  blossoming  hawthorn,  which 
she  held  unconsciously,  as,  with  a  sort  of  childlike  sim 
plicity,  she  turned  from  right  to  left,  to  make  reply  to  the 
request  for  prayers,  or  to  return  thanks  for  the  offered  bene 
diction  of  some  one  in  the  crowd. 

When  all  the  preparations  were  at  last  finished,  the  pro 
cession  of  mounted  horsemen,  with  a  confused  gathering  of 
the  population,  passed  down  the  streets  to  the  gates  of  the 
city,  and  as  they  passed  they  sang  the  words  of  the  Crusad 
ers'  Hymn,  which  had  fluttered  back  into  the  traditionary 
memory  of  Europe  from  the  knights  going  to  redeem  the 
Holy  Sepulchre. 

"  Fairest  Lord  Jesus, 

Ruler  of  all  Nature, 
O  Thou  of  God  and  man  the  Son !  • 

Thee  will  I  honor, 

Thee  will  I  cherish, 
Thou,  my  soul's  glory,  joy,  and  crown! 

"  Fair  are  the  meadows, 

Fairer  still  the  woodlands, 
Robed  in  the  pleasing  garb  of  spring: 

Jesus  shines  fairer, 

Jesus  is  purer, 
Who  makes  the  woful  heart  to  sing! 

"  Fair  is  the  sunshine, 

Fairer  still  the  moonlight, 
And  all  the  twinkling  starry  host: 

Jesus  shines  fairer, 

Jesus  is  purer, 
Than  all  the  angels  heaven  can  boast!" 

They  were  singing  the  second  verse,  as,  emerging  from 
the  dark  old  gate-way  of  the  town,  all  the  distant  landscape 
of  silvery  olive-orchards,  crimson  clover-fields,  blossoming 


358  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

almond-trees,  fig-trees,  and  grapevines,  just  in  the  tender 
green  of  spring,  burst  upon  their  view.  Agnes  felt  a  kind 
of  inspiration.  From  the  high  mountain  elevation  she 
could  discern  the  far-off  brightness  of  the  sea,  —  all  between 
one  vision  of  beauty,  —  and  the  religious  enthusiasm  which 
possessed  all  around  her  had  in  her  eye  all  the  value  of  the 
most  solid  and  reasonable  faith.  With  us,  who  may  look  on 
it  from  a  colder  and  more  distant  point  of  view,  doubts  may 
be  suggested  whether  this  naive  impressibility  to  religious 
influences,  this  simple,  whole-hearted  abandonment  to  their 
expression,  had  any  real  practical  value.  The  fact  that  any 
or  all  of  the  ac"tors  might  before  night  rob  or  stab  or  lie 
quite  as  freely  as  if  it  had  not  occurred  may  well  give  reason 
for  such  a  question.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  phenomena  is 
not  confined^  to  Italy  or  the  religion  of  the  Middle  Ages,  but 
exhibits  itself  in  many  a  prayer-meeting  and  camp-meeting 
of  modern  days.  For  our  own  part,  we  hold  it  better  to 
have  even  transient  upliftings  of  the  nobler  and  more  devout 
element  of  man's  nature  than  never  to  have  any  at  all,  and 
that  he  who  goes  on  in  worldly  and  sordid  courses,  without 
ever  a  spark  of  religious  enthusiasm  or  a  throb  of  aspira 
tion,  is  less  of  a  man  than  he  who  sometimes  soars  heaven 
ward,  though  his  wings  be  weak  and  he  fall  again. 

In  all  this  scene  Agostino  Sarelli  took  no  part.  He  had 
simply  given  orders  for  the  safe-conduct  of  Agnes,  and  then 
retired  to  his  own  room.  From  a  window,  however,  he 
watched  the  procession  as  it  passed  through  the  gates  of  the 
city,  and  his  resolution  was  immediately  taken  to  proceed  at 
once  by  a  secret  path  to  the  place  where  the  pilgrims  should 
emerge  upon  the  high-road. 

He  had  been,  induced  to  allow  the  departure  of  Agnes, 
from  seeing  the  utter  hopelessness  by  any  argument  or  per- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  359 

suasion  of  removing  a  barrier  that  was  so  vitally  interwoven 
with  the  most  sensitive  religious  nerves  of  her  being.  He 
saw  in  her  terrified  looks,  in  the  deadly  paleness  of  her  face, 
how  real  and  unaffected  was  the  anguish  which  his  words 
gave  her ;  he  saw  that  the  very  consciousness  of  her  own 
love  to  him  produced  a  sense  of  weakness  which  made  her 
shrink  in  utter  terror  from  his  arguments. 

"  There  is  no  remedy,"  he  said,  "  but  to  let  her  go  to 
Rome  and  see  with  her  own  eyes  how  utterly  false  and  vain 
is  the  vision  which  she  draws  from  the  purity  of  her  own 
believing  soul.  What  Christian  would  not  wish  that  these 
fair  dreams  had  any  earthly  reality  ?  But  this  gentle  dove 
must  not  be  left  unprotected  to  fly  into  that  foul,  unclean 
cage  of  vultures  and  harpies.  Deadly  as  the  peril  may  be 
to  me  to  breathe  the  air  of  Rome,  I  will  be  around  her  in 
visibly  to  watch  over  her." 


360  AGNES   OF   SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

HOME. 

A  VISION  rises  upon  us  from  the  land  of  shadows.  We 
see  a  wide  plain,  miles  and  miles  in  extent,  rolling  in  soft 
billows  of  green,  and  girded  on  all  sides  by  blue  mountains, 
whose  silver  crests  gleaming  in  the  setting  sunlight  tell  that 
the  winter  yet  lingers  on  their  tops,  though  spring  has 
decked  all  the  plain.  So  silent,  so  lonely,  so  fair  is  this 
waving  expanse  with  its  guardian  mountains,  it  might  be 
some  wild  solitude,  an  American  prairie  or  Asiatic  steppe, 
but  that  in  the  midst  thereof,  on  some  billows  of  rolling  land, 
we  discern  a  city,  sombre,  quaint,  and  old,  —  a  city  of 
dreams  and  mysteries,  —  a  city  of  the  living  and  the  dead. 
And  this  is  Rome,  —  weird,  wonderful,  ancient,  mighty 
Rome, — r  mighty  once  by  physical  force  and  grandeur,  might 
ier  now  in  physical  decadence  and  weakness  by  the  spell  of 
a  potent  moral  enchantment. 

As  the  sun  is  moving  westward,  the  whole  air  around  be 
comes  flooded  with  a  luminousness  which  seems  to  transfuse 
itself  with  pervading  presence  through  every  part  of  the 
city,  and  make  all  its  ruinous  and  mossy  age  bright  and 
living.  The  air  shivers  with  the  silver  vibrations  of  hun 
dreds  of  bells,  and  the  evening  glory  goes  up  and  down,  soft- 
footed  and  angelic,  transfiguring  all  things.  The  broken 
columns  of  the  Forum  seem  to  swim  in  golden  mist,  and 
luminous  floods  fill  the  Coliseum  as  it  stands  with  its  thou 
sand  arches  looking  out  into  the  city  like  so  many  sightless 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  361 

eye-holes  in  the  skull  of  the  past.  The  tender  light  pours 
up  streets  dank  and  ill-paved,  —  into  noisome  and  cavernous 
dens  called  houses,  where  the  peasantry  of  to-day  vegetate 
in  contented  subservience.  It  illuminates  many  a  dingy 
court-yard,  where  the  moss  is  green  on  the  walls,  and 
gurgling  fountains  fall  into  quaint  old  sculptured  basins.  If 
lights  up  the  gorgeous  palaces  of  Rome's  modern  princes, 
built  with  stones  wrenched  from  ancient  ruins.  It  streams 
through  a  wilderness  of  churches,  each  with  its  tolling 
prayer-bell,  and  steals  through  painted  windows  into  the 
dazzling  confusion  of  pictured  and  gilded  glories  that  glitter 
and  gleam  from  roof  and  wall  within.  And  it  goes,  too, 
across  the  Tiber,  up  the  filthy  and  noisome  Ghetto,  where, 
hemmed  in  by  ghostly  superstition,  the  sons  of  Israel  are 
growing  up  without  vital  day,  like  wan  white  plants  in  cel 
lars  ;  and  the  black  mournful  obelisks  of  the  cypresses  in  the 
villas  around,  it  touches  with  a  solemn  glory.  The  castle 
of  St.  Angelo  looks  like  a  great  translucent,  luminous  orb, 
and  the  statues  of  saints  and  apostles  on  the  top  of  St.  John 
Lateran  glow  as  if  made  of  living  fire,  and  seem  to  stretch 
out  glorified  hands  of  welcome  to  the  pilgrims  that  are  ap 
proaching  the  Holy  City  across  the  soft,  palpitating  sea  of 
green  that  lies  stretched  like  a  misty  veil  around  it. 

Then,  as  now,  Rome  was  an  enchantress  of  mighty  and 
wonderful  power,  with  her  damp,  and  mud,  and  mould,  her 
ill-fed,  ill-housed  populace,  her  ruins  of  old  glory  rising  dim 
and  ghostly  amid  her  palaces  of  to-day.  With  all  her  awful 
secrets  of  rapine,  cruelty,  ambition,  injustice,  —  with  her 
foul  orgies  of  unnatural  crime,  —  with  the  very  corruption 
of  the  old  buried  Roman  Empire  steaming  up  as  from  a 
charnel-house,  and  permeating  all  modern  life  with  its  efflu 
vium  of  deadly  uncleanness,  —  still  Rome  had  that  strange, 
16 


362  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

bewildering  charm  of  melancholy  grandeur  and  glory  which 
made  all  hearts  cleave  to  her,  and  eyes  and  feet  turn  long 
ingly  towards  her  from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Great  souls 
and  pious  yearned  for  her  as  for  a  mother,  and  could  not  be 
quieted  till  they  had  kissed  the  dust  of  her  streets.  There 
they  fondly  thought  was  rest  to  be  found,  —  that  rest  which 
through  all  weary  life  ever  recedes  like  the  mirage  of  the 
desert;  there  sins  were  to  be  shriven  which  no  common 
priest  might  forgive,  and  heavy  burdens  unbound  from  the 
conscience  by  an  infallible  wisdom ;  there  was  to  be  revealed 
to  the  praying  soul  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the 
evidence  of  things  not  seen.  Even  the  mighty  spirit  of 
Luther  yearned  for  the  breast  of  this  great  unknown  mother, 
and  came  humbly  thither  to  seek  the  repose  which  he  found 
afterwards  in  Jesus. 

At  this  golden  twilight-hour  along  the  Appian  Way  come 
the  pilgrims  of  our  story  with  prayers  and  tears  of  thankful 
ness.  Agnes  looks  forward  and  sees  the  saintly  forms  on 
St.  John  Lateran  standing  in  a  cloud  of  golden  light  and 
stretching  out  protecting  hands  to  bless  her. 

"  See,  see,  grandmother ! "  she  exclaimed,  —  "  yonder  is 
our  Father's  house,  and  all  the  saints  beckon  us  home ! 
Glory  be  to  God  who  hath  brought  us  hither !  " 

Within  the  church  the  evening-service  is  going  on,  and 
the  soft  glory  streaming  in  reveals  that  dizzying  confusion 
of  riches  and  brightness  with  which  the  sensuous  and  color- 
loving  Italian  delights  to  encircle  the  shrine  of  the  Heavenly 
Majesty.  Pictured  angels  in  cloudy  wreaths  smile  down 
from  the  gold-fretted  roofs  and  over  the  round,  graceful 
arches ;  and  the  floor  seems  like  a  translucent  sea  of  pre 
cious  marbles  and  gems  fused  into  solid  brightness,  and  re 
flecting  in  long  gleams  and  streaks  dim  intimations  of  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  363 

sculptured  and  gilded  glories  above.  Altar  and  shrine  are 
now  veiled  in  that  rich  violet  hue  which  the  Church  has 
chosen  for  its  mourning  color ;  and  violet  vestments,  taking 
the  place  of  the  gorgeous  robes  of  the  ecclesiastics,  tell  the 
approach  of  that  holy  week  of  sadness  when  all  Christendom 
falls  in  penitence  at  the  feet  of  that  Almighty  Love  once 
sorrowful  and  slain  for  her. 

The  long-drawn  aisles  are  now  full  to  overflowing  with 
that  weird  chanting  which  one  hears  nowhere  but  in  Rome 
at  this  solemn  season.  Those  voices,  neither  of  men  nor 
women,  have  a  wild,  morbid  energy  which  seems  to  search 
every  fibre  of  the  nervous  system,  and,  instead  of  soothing 
or  calming,  to  awaken  strange  yearning  agonies  of  pain, 
ghostly  unquiet  longings,  and  endless  feverish,  unrestful 
cravings.  The  sounds  now  swell  and  flood  the  church  as 
with  a  rushing  torrent  of  wailing  and  clamorous  supplication, 
—  now  recede  and  moan  themselves  away  to  silence  in  far- 
distant  aisles,  like  the  last  faint  sigh  of  discouragement  and 
despair.  Anon  they  burst  out  from  the  room,  they  drop 
from  arches  and  pictures,  they  rise  like  steam  from  the 
glassy  pavement,  and,  meeting,  mingle  in  wavering  clamors 
of  lamentation  and  shrieks  of  anguish.  One  might  fancy 
lost  souls  from  out  the  infinite  and  dreary  abysses  of  utter 
separation  from  God  might  thus  wearily  and  aimlessly  moan 
and  wail,  breaking  into  agonized  tumults  of  desire,  and 
trembling  back  into  exhaustions  of  despair.  Such  music 
brings  only  throbbings  and  yearnings,  but  no  peace ;  and 
yonder,  on  the  glassy  floor,  at  the  foot  of  a  crucifix,  a  poor 
mortal  lies  sobbing  and  quivering  under  its  pitiless  power,  as 
if  it  had  wrenched  every  tenderest  nerve  of  memory,  and 
torn  open  every  half-healed  wound  of  the  soul. 

When  the  chanting  ceases,  he  rises  slow  and  tottering, 


364  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

and  we  see  in  the  wan  face  turning  towards  the  dim  light 
the  well-remembered  features  of  Father  Francesco.  Driven 
to  despair  by  the  wild,  ungovernable  force  of  his  unfortunate 
love,  weary  of  striving,  overborne  with  a  hopeless  and  con 
tinually  accumulating  load  of  guilt,  he  had  come  to  Rome  to 
lay  down  at  the  feet  of  heavenly  wisdom  the  burden  which 
he  can  no  longer  bear  alone  ;  and  rising  now,  he  totters  to  a 
confessional  where  sits  a  holy  cardinal  to  whom  has  been 
deputed  the  office  to  hear  and  judge  those  sins  which  no 
subordinate  power  in  the  Church  is  competent  to  absolve. 

Father  Francesco  kneels  down  with  a  despairing,  confid 
ing  movement,  such  as  one  makes,  when,  after  a  long  strug 
gle  of  anguish,  one  has  found  a  refuge ;  and  the  church 
man  within  inclining  his  ear  to  the  grating,  the  confession 
begins. 

Could  we  only  be  clairvoyant,  it  would  be  worth  our 
while  to  note  the  difference  between  the  two  faces,  separated 
only  by  the  thin  grating  of  the  confessional,  but  belonging 
to  souls  whom  an  abyss  wide  as  eternity  must  forever  divide 
from  any  common  ground  of  understanding. 

On  the  one  side,  with  ear  close  to  the  grate,  is  a  round, 
smoothly  developed  Italian  head,  with  that  rather  tumid  out 
line  of  features  which  one  often  sees  in  a  Roman  in  middle 
life,  when  easy  living  and  habits  of  sensual  indulgence  begin 
to  reveal  their  signs  in  the  countenance,  and  to  broaden  and 
confuse  the  clear-cut,  statuesque  lines  of  early  youth.  Evi 
dently,  that  is  the  head  of  an  easy-going,  pleasure-loving 
man,  who  has  waxed  warm  with  good  living,  and  performs 
the  duties  of  his  office  with  an  unctuous  grace  as  something 
becoming  and  decorous  to  be  gone  through  with.  Evidently, 
he  is  puzzled  and  half-contemptuous  at  the  revelations  which 
come  through  the  grating  in  hoarse  whispers  from  those  thin, 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  365 

trembling  lips.  The  other  man,  who  speaks  with  the  sweat 
of  anguish  beaded  on  his  brow,  with  a  mortal  pallor  on  his 
thin,  worn  cheeks,  is  putting  questions  to  the  celestial  guide 
within  which  seem  to  that  guide  the  ravings  of  a  crazed 
lunatic ;  and  yet  there  is  a  deadly,  despairing  earnestness  in 
the  appeal  that  makes  an  indistinct  knocking  at  the  door  of 
his  heart,  for  the  man  is  born  of  woman,  and  can  feel  that 
somehow  or  other  these  are  the  words  of  a  mighty  agony. 

He  addresses  him  some  words  of  commonplace  ghostly 
comfort,  and  gives  a  plenary  absolution.  The  Capuchin 
monk  rises  up  and  stands  meekly  wiping  the  sweat  from 
his  brow,  the  churchman  leaves  his  box,  and  they  meet  face 
to  face,  when  each  starts,  seeing  in  the  other  the  apparition 
of  a  once  well-known  countenance. 

"  What !  Lorenzo  Sforza  !  "  said  the  churchman.  "  Who 
would  have  thought  it  ?  Don't  you  remember  me  ? " 

"  Not'  Lorenzo  Sforza,"  said  the  other,  a  hectic  brilliancy 
flushing  his  pale  cheek ;  "  that  name  is  buried  in  the  tomb 
of  his  fathers  ;  he  you  speak  to  knows  it  no  more.  The 
unworthy  Brother  Francesco,  deserving  nothing  of  God  or 
man,  is  before  you." 

"  Oh,  come,  come  ! "  said  the  other,  grasping  his  hand  in 
spite  of  his  resistance  ;  "  that  is  all  proper  enough  in  its 
place ;  but  between  friends,  you  know,  what 's  the  use  ?  It 's 
lucky  we  have  you  here  now ;  we  want  one  of  your  family 
to  send  on  a  mission  to  Florence,  and  talk  a  little  reason  into 
the  citizens  and  the  Signoria.  Come  right  away  with  me  to 
the  Pope." 

"  Brother,  in  God's  name  let  me  go  !  I  have  no  mission 
to  the  great  of  this  world ;  and  I  cannot  remember  or  be 
called  by  the  name  of  other  days,  or  salute  kinsman  or 
acquaintance  after  the  flesh,  without  a  breach  of  vows." 


366  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Poh,  poll !  you  are  nervous,  dyspeptic ;  you  don't  under 
stand  things.  Don't  you  see  you  are  where  vows  can  be 
bound  and  loosed  ?  Come  along,  and  let  us  wake  you  out 
of  this  nightmare.  Such  a  pother  about  a  pretty  peasant- 
girl  1  One  of  your  rank  and  taste,  too  !  I  warrant  me 
the  little  sinner  practised  on  you  at  the  confessional.  I 
know  their  ways,  the  whole  of  them ;  but  you  mourn  over 
it  in  a  way  that  is  perfectly  incomprehensible.  If  you  had 
tripped  a  little,  —  paid  a  compliment,  or  taken  a  liberty  or 
two,  —  it  would  have  been  only  natural ;  but  this  desperation, 
when  you  have  resisted  like  Saint  Anthony  himself,  shows 
your  nerves  are  out  of  order  and  you  need  change." 

"  For  God's  sake,  brother,  tempt  me  not ! "  said  Father 
Francesco,  wrenching  himself  away,  with  such  a  haggard 
and  insane  vehemence  as  quite  to  discompose  the  church 
man  ;  and  drawing  his  cowl  over  his  face,  he  glided  swiftly 
down  a  side-aisle  and  out  the  door. 

The  churchman  was  too  easy-going  to  risk  the  fatigue  of 
a  scuffle  with  a  man  whom  he  considered  as  a  monomaniac ; 
but  he  stepped  smoothly  and  stealthily  after  him  and  watched 
him  go  out. 

"  Look  you,"  he  said  to  a  servant  in  violet  livery  who  was 
waiting  by  the  door,  "  follow  yonder  Capuchin  and  bring  me 
word  where  he  abides.  —  He  may  be  cracked,"  he  said  to 
himself ;  "  but,  after  all,  one  of  his  blood  may  be  worth 
mending,  and  do  us  good  service  either  in  Florence  or 
Milan.  We  must  have  him  transferred  to  some  convent 
here,  where  we  can  lay  hands  on  him  readily,  if  we  want 
him." 

Meanwhile  Father  Francesco  wends  his  way  through 
many  a  dark  and  dingy  street  to  an  ancient  Capuchin  con 
vent,  where  he  finds  brotherly  admission.  Weary  and  de- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  367 

spairing  is  he  beyond  all  earthly  despair,  for  the  very  altar 
of  his  God  seems  to  have  failed  him.  He  asked  for  bread, 
and  has  got  a  stone,  —  he  asked  a  fish,  and  has  got  a  scor 
pion.  Again  and  again  the  worldly,  almost  'scoffing,  tone  of 
the  superior  to  whom  he  has  been  confessing  sounds  like  the 
hiss  of  a  serpent  in  his  ear. 

But  he  is  sent  for  in  haste  to  visit  the  bedside  of  the 
Prior,  who  has  long  been  sick  and  failing,  and  who  gladly 
embraces  this  opportunity  to  make  his  last  confession  to  a 
man  of  such  reputed  sanctity  in  his  order  as  Father  Fran 
cesco.  For  the  acute  Father  Johannes,  casting  about  for 
various  means  to  empty  the  Superior's  chair  at  Sorrento, 
for  his  own  benefit,  and  despairing  of  any  occasion  of  slan 
derous  accusation,  had  taken  the  other  tack  of  writing  to 
Rome  extravagant  laudations  of  such  feats  of  penance  and 
saintship  in  his  Superior  as  in  the  view  of  all  the  brothers 
required  that  such  a  light  should  no  more  be  hidden  in  an 
obscure  province,  but  be  set  on  a  Roman  candlestick,  where 
it  might  give  light  to  the  faithful  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
Thus  two  currents  of  worldly  intrigue  were  uniting  to  push 
an  unworldly  man  to  a  higher  dignity  than  he  either  sought 
or  desired. 

When  a  man  has  a  sensitive  or  sore  spot  in  his  heart, 
from  the  pain  of  which  he  would  gladly  flee  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth,  it  is  marvellous  what  coincidences  of  events  will 
be  found  to  press  upon  it  wherever  he  may  go.  Singu 
larly  enough,  one  of  the  first  items  in  the  confession  of  the 
Capuchin  Superior  related  to  Agnes,  and  his  story  was  in 
substance  as  follows.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  induced  by 
the  persuasions  of  the  young  son  of  a  great  and  powerful 
family  to  unite  him  in  the  holy  sacrament  of  marriage  with 
a  protegee  of  his  mother's  ;  but  the  marriage  being  detected, 


368  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

it  was  disavowed  by  the  young  nobleman,  and  the  girl  and 
her  mother  chased  out  ignominiously,  so  that  she  died  in 
great  misery.  For  his  complicity  in  this  sin  the  conscience 
of  the  monk  ha*d  often  troubled  him,  and  he  had  kept  track 
of  the  child  she  left,  thinking  perhaps  some  day  to  make 
reparation  by  declaring  the  true  marriage  of  her  mother. 
That  the  residence  of  this  young  girl  had  been  at  Sor 
rento,  where  she  had  been  living  quite  retired,  under  the 
charge  of  her  old  grandmother,  —  and  here  the  dying  man 
made  inquiry  if  Father  Francesco  was  acquainted  with  any 
young  person  answering  to  the  description  which  he  gave. 

Father  Francesco  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  the 
person,  —  and  assured  the  dying  penitent,  that,  in  all  human 
probability,  she  was  at  this  moment  in  Rome.  The  monk 
then  certified  upon  the  holy  cross  to  the  true  marriage  of 
her  mother,  and  besought  Father  Francesco  to  make  the 
same  known  to  one  of  her  kindred  whom  he  named.  He 
further  informed  him,  that  this  family,  having  fallen  under 
the  displeasure  of  the  Pope  and  his  son,  Cresar  Borgia, 
had  been  banished  from  the  city,  and  their  property  con 
fiscated,  so  that  there  was  none  of  them  to  be  found  there 
abouts  except  an  aged  widowed  sister  of  the  young  man, 
who,  having  married  into  a  family  in  favor  with  the  Pope, 
was  allowed  to  retain  her  possessions,  and  now  resided  in  a 
villa  near  Rome,  where  she  lived  retired,  devoting  her 
whole  life  to  works  of  piety.  The  old  man  therefore  con-, 
jured  Father  Francesco  to  lose  no  time  in  making  this 
religious  lady  understand  the  existence  of  so  near  a  kins 
woman,  and  take  her  under  her  protection.  —  Thus  strangely 
did  Father  Francesco  find  himself  again  obliged  to  take  up 
that  enchanted  thread  which  had  led  him  into  labyrinths  so 
fatal  to  his  peace. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  369 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE  SAINT'S  BEST. 

AGNES  entered  the  city  of  Rome  in  a  trance  of  enthu 
siastic  emotion,  almost  such  as  one  might  imagine  in  a  soul 
entering  the  heavenly  Jerusalem  above.  To  her  exalted 
ideas  she  was  approaching  not  only  the  ground  hallowed  by 
the  blood  of  apostles  and  martyrs,  not  merely  the  tombs  of 
the  faithful,  but  the  visible  "  general  assembly  and  church 
of  the  first-born  which  are  written  in  heaven."  Here 
reigned  the  appointed  representative  of  Jesus,  —  and  she 
imagined  a  benignant  image  of  a  prince  clothed  with  honor 
and  splendor,  who  was  yet  the  righter  of  all  wrongs,  the 
redresser  of  all  injuries,  the  friend  and  succorer  of  the  poor 
and  needy  ;  and  she  was  firm  in  a  secret  purpose  to  go  to 
this  great  and  benignant  father,  and  on  her  knees  entreat 
him  to  forgive  the  sins  of  her  lover,  and  remove  the  excom 
munication  that  threatened  at  every  moment  his  eternal 
salvation.  For  she  trembled  to  think  of  it,  —  a  sudden 
accident,  a  thrust  of  a  dagger,  a  fall  from  his  horse,  might 
put  him  forever  beyond  the  pale  of  repentance,  —  he  might 
die  unforgiven,  and  sink  to  eternal  pain. 

If  any  should  wonder  that  a  Christian  soul  could  preserve 
within  itself  an  image  so  ignorantly  fair,  in  such  an  age, 
when  the  worldliness  and  corruption  in  the  Papal  chair  were 
obtruded  by  a  thousand  incidental  manifestations,  and  were 
illuded  to  in  all  the  calculations  of  simple  common  people, 
who  looked  at  facts  with  a  mere  view  to  the  guidance  of 
16* 


370  AGNES  OF   SORRENTO. 

their  daily  conduct,  it  is  necessary  to  remember  the  nature 
of  Agnes's  religious  training,  and  the  absolute  renunciation 
of  all  individual  reasoning  which  from  infancy  had  been  laid 
down  before  her  as  the  first  and  indispensable  prerequisite 
of  spiritual  progress.  To  believe,  —  to  believe  utterly  and 
blindly,  —  not  only  without  evidence,  but  against  evidence, 
—  to  reject  the  testimony  even  of  her  senses,  when  set 
against  the  simple  affirmation  of  her  superiors,  • —  had  been 
the  beginning,  middle,  and  end  of  her  religious  instruction. 
When  a  doubt  assailed  her  mind  on  any  point,  she  had  been 
taught  to  retire  within  herself  and  repeat  a  prayer ;  and  in 
this  way  her  mental  eye  had  formed  the  habit  of  closing  to 
anything  that  might  shake  her  faith  as  quickly  as  the  phy 
sical  eye  closes  at  a  threatened  blow.  Then,  as  she  was  of  a 
poetic  and  ideal  nature,  entirely  differing  from  the  mass  of 
those  with  whom  she  associated,  she  had  formed  that  habit 
of  abstraction  and  mental  revery  which  prevented  her  hear 
ing  or  perceiving  the  true  sense  of  a  great  deal  that  went  on 
around  her.  The  conversations  that  commonly  were  carried 
on  in  her  presence  had  for  her  so  little  interest  that  she 
scarcely  heard  them.  The  world  in  which  she  moved  was  a 
glorified  world,  —  wherein,  to  be  sure,  the  forms  of  every 
day  life  appeared,  but  appeared  as  different  from  what 
they  were  in  reality  as  the  old  mouldering  daylight  view  of 
Rome  is  from  the  warm  translucent  glory  of  its  evening 
transfiguration. 

So  in  her  quiet,  silent  heart  she  nursed  this  beautiful  hope 
of  finding  in  Rome  the  earthly  image  of  her  Saviour's  home 
above,  of  finding  in  the  head  of  the  Church  the  real  image 
of  her  Redeemer,  —  the  friend  to  whom  the  poorest  and 
lowliest  may  pour  out  their  souls  with  as  much  freedom  as 
the  highest  and  noblest.  The  spiritual  directors  who  had 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  371 

formed  the  mind  of  Agnes  in  her  early  days  had  been  per 
sons  in  the  same  manner  taught  to  move  in  an  ideal  world 
of  faith.  The  Mother  Theresa  had  never  seen  the  realities 
of  life,  and  supposed  the  Church  on  earth  to  be  all  that  the 
fondest  visions  of  human  longing  could  paint  it.  The  hard, 
energetic,  prose  experience  of  old  Jocunda,  and  the  down 
right  way  with  which  she  sometimes  spoke  of  things  as  a 
trooper's  wife  must  have  seen  them,  were  repressed  and 
hushed  down,  as  the  imperfect  faith  of  a  half-reclaimed 
worldling,  —  they  could  not  be  allowed  to  awaken  her  from 
the  sweetness  of  so  blissful  a  dream.  In  like  manner, 
when  Lorenzo  Sforza  became  Father  Francesco,  he  strove 
with  earnest  prayer  to  bury  his  gift  of  individual  reason  in 
the  same  grave  with  his  family  name  and  worldly  experience. 
As  to  all  that  transpired  in  the  real  world,  he  wrapped  him 
self  in  a  mantle  of  imperturbable  silence ;  the  intrigues  of 
popes  and  cardinals,  once  well  known  to  him,  sank  away  as 
a  forbidden  dream ;  and  by  some  metaphysical  process  of 
imaginative  devotion,  he  enthroned  God  in  the  place  of  the 
dominant  powers,  and  taught  himself  to  receive  all  that  came 
from  them  in  uninquiring  submission,  as  proceeding  from 
unerring  wisdom.  Though  he  had  begun  his  spiritual  life 
under  the  impulse  of  Savonarola,  yet  so  perfect  had  been  his 
isolation  from  all  tidings  of  what  transpired  in  the  external 
world  that  the  conflict  which  was  going  on  between  that 
distinguished  man  and  the  Papal  hierarchy  never  reached 
his  ear.  He  sought  and  aimed  as  much  as  possible  to  make 
his  soul  like  the  soul  of  one  dead,  which  adores  and  wor 
ships  in  ideal  space,  and  forgets  forever  the  scenes  and  rela 
tions  of  earth  ;  and  he  had  so  long  contemplated  Rome 
under  the  celestial  aspects  of  his  faith,  that,  though  the 
shock  of  his  first  confession  there  had  been  painful,  still  it 


372  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

was  insufficient  to  shake  his  faith.  It  had  been  God's  will, 
he  thought,  that  where  he  looked  for  aid  he  should  meet 
only  confusion,  and  he  bowed  to  the  inscrutable  will,  and 
blindly  adored  the  mysterious  revelation.  If  such  could  be 
the  submission  and  the  faith  of  a  strong  and  experienced 
man,  who  can  wonder  at  the  enthusiastic  illusions  of  an  inno 
cent,  trustful  child  ? 

Agnes  and  her  grandmother  entered  the  city  of  Rome  just 
as  the  twilight  had  faded  into  night;  and  though  Agnes,  full 
of  faith  and  enthusiasm,  was  longing  to  begin  immediately 
the  ecstatic  vision  of  shrines  and  holy  places,  old  Elsie  com 
manded  her  not  to  think  of  anything  further  that  night. 
They  proceeded,  therefore,  with  several  other  pilgrims  who 
had  entered  the  city,  to  a  church  specially  set  apart  for  their 
reception,  connected  with  which  were  large  dormitories  and 
a  religious  order  whose  business  was  to  receive  and  wait 
upon  them,  and  to  see  that  all  their  wants  were  supplied. 
This  religious  foundation  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  Rome ;  and 
it  is  esteemed  a  work  of  especial  merit  and  sanctity  among 
the  citizens  to  associate  themselves  temporarily  in  these 
labors  in  Holy  Week.  Even  princes  and  princesses  come, 
humble  and  lowly,  mingling  with  those  of  common  degree, 
and  all,  calling  each  other  brother  and  sister,  vie  in  kind 
attentions  to  these  guests  of  the  Church. 

When  Agnes  and  Elsie  arrived,  several  of  these  volunteer 
assistants  were  in  waiting.  Agnes  was  remarked  among  all 
the  rest  of  the  company  for  her  peculiar  beauty  and  the  rapt 
enthusiastic  expression  of  her  face. 

Almost  immediately  on  their  entrance  into  the  reception- 
hall  connected  with  the  church,  they  seemed  to  attract  the 
attention  of  a  tall  lady  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  and  accom 
panied  by  a  female  servant,  with  whom  she  was  conversing 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  373 

on  those  terms  of  intimacy  which  showed  confidential  rela 
tions  between  the  two. 

"  See ! "  she  said,  "  my  Mona,  what  a  heavenly  face  is 
there! — that  sweet  child  has  certainly  the  light  of  grace 
shining  through  her.  My  heart  warms  to  her." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  old  servant,  looking  across,  "  and  well 
it  may,  —  dear  lamb  come  so  far !  But,  Holy  Virgin,  how 
my  head  swims  !  How  strange  !  —  that  child  reminds  me 
of  some  one.  My  Lady,  perhaps,  may  think  of  some  one 
whom  she  looks  like." 

"  Mona,  you  say  true.  I  have  the  same  strange  impres 
sion  that  I  have  seen  a  face  like  hers,  but  who  or  where  I 
cannot  say." 

"  What  would  my  Lady  say,  if  I  said  it  was  our  dear 
Prince  ?  —  God  rest  his  soul !  " 

"  Mona,  it  is  so,  —  yes,"  added  the  lady,  looking  more 
intently,  —  "  how  singular  !  —  the  very  traits  of  our  house 
in  a  peasant-girl !  She  is  of  Sorrento,  I  judge,  by  her  cos 
tume,  —  what  a  pretty  one  it  is !  That  old  woman  is  her 
mother,  perhaps.  I  must  choose  her  for  my  care,  —  and, 
Mona,  you  shall  wait  on  her  mother." 

So  saying,  the  Princess  Paulina  crossed  the  hall,  and, 
bending  affably  over  Agnes,  took  her  hand  and  kissed  her, 
saying,  — 

"Welcome,  my  dear  little  sister,  to  the  house  of  our 
Father  I " 

Agnes  looked  up  with  strange,  wondering  eyes  into  the 
face  that  was  bent  to  hers.  It  was  sallow  and  sunken,  with 
deep  lines  of  ill-health  and  sorrow,  but  the  features  were 
noble,  and  must  once  have  been  beautiful ;  the  whole  action, 
voice,  and  manner  were  dignified  and  impressive.  Instinc 
tively  she  felt  that  the  lady  was  of  superior  birth  and 


374  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO, 

breeding  to  any  with  whom  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
associating. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  lady  ;  "  and  this  —  your  moth 
er  "  —  she  added. 

"  She  is  my  grandmother,"  said  Agnes. 

"  Well,  then,  your  grandmother,  sweet  child,  shall  be 
attended  to  by  my  good  sister  Mona  here." 

The  Princess  Paulina  drew  the  hand  of  Agnes  through 
her  arm,  and,  laying  her  hand  affectionately  on  it,  looked 
down  and  smiled  tenderly  on  her. 

"  Are  you  very  tired,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  no ! "  said  Agnes,  —  "I  am  so  happy,  so  blessed 
to  be  here  ! " 

"  You  have  travelled  a  long  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  from  Sorrento  ;  but  I  am  used  to  walking,  —  I  did 
not  feel  it  to  be  long,  —  my  heart  kept  me  up,  —  I  wanted 
to  come  home  so  much." 

"  Home  ?  "  said  the  Princess. 

"  Yes,  to  my  soul's  home,  —  the  house  of  our  dear  Father 
the  Pope." 

The  Princess  started,  and  looked  incredulously  down  for  a 
moment ;  then  noticing  the  confiding,  whole-hearted  air  of 
the  child,  she  sighed  and  was  silent. 

"  Come  with  me  above,"  she  said,  "  and  let  me  attend  a 
little  to  your  comfort." 

"  How  good  you  are,  dear  lady ! "  said  Agnes. 

"  I  am  not  good,  my  child,  —  I  am  only  your  unworthy 
sister  in  Christ;"  and  as  the  lady  spoke,  she  opened  the 
door  into  a  room  where  were  a  number  of  other  female 
pilgrims  seated  around  the  wall,  each  attended  by  a  person 
whose  peculiar  care  she  seemed  to  be. 

At  the  feet  of  each  was  a  vessel  of  water,  and  when  the 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  375 

seats  were  all  full,  a  cardinal  in  robes  of  office  entered,  and 
began  reading  prayers.  Each  lady  present,  kneeling  at  the 
feet  of  her  chosen  pilgrim,  divested  them  carefully  of  their 
worn  and  travel-soiled  shoes  and  stockings,  and  proceeded  to 
wash  them.  It  was  not  a  mere  rose-water  ceremony,  but  a 
good  hearty  washing  of  feet  that  for  the  most  part  had  great 
need  of  the  ablution.  While  this  service  was  going  on,  the 
cardinal  read  from  the  Gospel  how  a  Greater  than  they  all 
had  washed  the  feet  of  His  disciples,  and  said,  "  If  I,  your 
Lord  and  Master,  have  washed  your  feet,  ye  also  ought  to 
wash  one  another's  feet."  Then  all  repeated  in  concert  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  while  each  humbly  kissed  the  feet  she  had 
washed,  and  proceeded  to  replace  the  worn  and  travel-soiled 
shoes  and  stockings  with  new  and  strong  ones,  the  gift  of 
Christian  love.  Each  lady  then  led  her  charge  into  a  room 
where  tables  were  spread  with  a  plain  and  wholesome  repast 
of  all  such  articles  of  food  as  the  season  of  Lent  allowed. 
Each  placed  her  protegee  at  table,  and  carefully  attended  to 
all  her  wants  at  the  supper,  and  afterwards  dormitories  were 
opened  for  their  repose. 

The  Princess  Paulina  performed  all  these  offices  for  Ag 
nes  with  a  tender  earnestness  which  won  upon  her  heart. 
The  young  girl  thought  herself  indeed  in  that  blessed  society 
of  which  she  had  dreamed,  where  the  high-born  and  the 
rich  become  through  Christ's  love  the  servants  of  the  poor 
and  lowly,  —  and  through  all  the  services  she  sat  in  a  sort 
of  dream  of  rapture.  How  lovely  this  reception  into  the 
Holy  City !  how  sweet  thus  to  be  taken  to  the  arms  of  the 
great  Christian  family,  bound  together  in  the  charity  which 
is  the  bond  of  perfectness  ! 

"  Please  tell  me,  dear  lady,"  said  Agnes,  after  supper, 
"who  is  that  holy  man  that  prayed  with  us?" 


876  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Oh,  he  —  he  is  the  Cardinal  Capello,"  said  the  Princess. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  spoken  with  him,"  said  Agnes. 

"  Why,  my  child  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  him  when  and  how  I  could  get  speech 
with  our  dear  Father  the  Pope,  —  for  there  is  somewhat  on 
my  mind  that  I  would  lay  before  him." 

"  My  poor  little  sister,"  said  the  Princess,  much  perplexed, 
"  you  do  not  understand  things.  What  you  speak  of  is  im 
possible.  The  Pope  is  a  great  king." 

"  I  know  he  is,"  said  Agnes,  — "  and  so  is  our  Lord 
Jesus,  —  but  every  soul  may  come  to  him." 

"I  cannot  explain  to  you  now,"  said  the  Princess, — 
"  there  is  not  time  to-night.  But  I  shall  see  you  again.  I 
will  send  for  you  to  come  to  my  house,  and  there  talk  with 
you  about  many  things  which  you  need  to  know.  Mean 
while,  promise  me,  dear  child,  not  to  try  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind  you  spoke  of  until  I  have  talked  with  you." 

"  Well,  I  will  not,"  said  Agnes,  with  a  glance  of  docile 
affection,  kissing  the  hand  of  the  Princess. 

The  action  was  so  pretty,  —  the  great,  soft,  dark  eyes 
looked  so  fawn-like  and  confiding  in  their  innocent  tender 
ness,  that  the  lady  seemed  much  moved. 

"  Our  dear  Mother  bless  thee,  child  ! "  she  said,  laying 
her  hand  on  her  head,  and  stooping  to  kiss  her  forehead. 

She  left  her  at  the  door  of  the  dormitory. 

The  Princess  and  her  attendant  went  out  of  the  church- 
door,  where  her  litter  stood  in  waiting,  The  two  took  their 
seats  in  silence,  and  silently  pursued  their  way  through  the 
streets  of  the  old  dimly-lighted  city  and  out  of  one  of  its 
principal  gates  to  the  wide  Campagna  beyond.  The  villa 
of  the  Princess  was  situated  on  an  eminence  at  some  dis 
tance  from  the  city,  and  the  night-ride  to  it  was  solemn  and 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  377 

solitary.  They  passed  along  the  old  Appian*  'Way  over 
pavements  that  had  rumbled  under  the  chariot-wheels  of  the 
emperors  and  nobles  of  a  by-gone  age,  while  along  their 
way,  glooming  up  against  the  clear  of  the  sky,  w«re  vast 
shadowy  piles,  —  the  tombs  of  the  dead  of  other  days.  All 
mouldering  and  lonely,  shaggy  and  fringed  with  bushes  and 
streaming  wild  vines  through  which  the  night-wind  sighed 
and  rustled,  they  might  seem  to  be  pervaded  by  the  rest 
less  spirits  of  the  dead  ;  and  as  the  lady  passed  them,  she 
shivered,  and,  crossing  herself,  repeated  an  inward  prayer 
against  wandering  demons  that  walk  in  desolate  places. 

Timid  and  solitary,  the  high-born  lady  shrank  and  cowered 
•within  herself  with  a  distressing  feeling  of  loneliness.  A 
childless  widow  in  delicate  health,  whose  paternal  family 
had  been  for  the  most  part  cruelly  robbed,  exiled,  or  de 
stroyed  by  the  reigning  Pope  and  his  family,  she  felt  her 
own  situation  a  most  unprotected  and  precarious  one,  since 
the  least  jealousy  or  misunderstanding  might  bring  upon  her, 
too,  the  ill-will  of  the  Borgias,  which  had  proved  so  fatal  to 
the  rest  of  her  race.  No  comfort  in  life  remained  to  her 
but  her  religion,  to  whose  practice  she  clung  as  to  her  all ; 
but  even  in  this  her  life  was  embittered  by  facts  to  which, 
with  the  best  disposition  in  the  world,  she  could  not  shut  her 
eyes.  Her  own  family  had  been  too  near  the  seat  of  power 
not  to  see  'all  the  base  intrigues  by  which  that  sacred  and 
solemn  position  of  Head  of  the  Christian  Church  had  been 
traded  for  as  a  marketable  commodity.  The  pride,  the  in 
decency,  the  cruelty  of  those  who  now  reigned  in  the  name 
of  Christ  came  over  her  mind  in  contrast  with  the  picture 
painted  by  the  artless,  trusting  faith  of  the  peasant-girl  with 
whom  she  had  just  parted.  Her  mind  had  been  too  thor 
oughly  drilled  in  the  non-reflective  practice  of  her  faith  to 


378  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

dare  to  puf  forth  any  act  of  reasoning  upon  facts  so  visible 
and  so  tremendous,  —  she  rather  trembled  at  herself  for 
seeing  what  she  saw  and  for  knowing  what  she  knew,  and 
feared  somehow  that  this  very  knowledge  might  endanger 
her  salvation ;  and  so  she  rode  homeward  cowering  and 
praying  like  a  frightened  child. 

"  Does  my  Lady  feel  ill  ?  "  said  the  old  servant,  anxiously. 

"  No,  Mona,  no,  —  not  in  body." 

"  And  what  is  on  my  Lady's  mind  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mona,  it  is  only  what  is  always  there.  To-morrow 
is  Palm  Sunday,  and  how  can  I  go  to  see  the  murderers  and 
robbers  of  our  house  in  holy  places  ?  Oh,  Mona,  what  can 
Christians  do,  when  such  men  handle  holy  things  ?  It  was 
a  comfort  to  wash  the  feet  of  those  poor  simple  pilgrims,  who 
tread  in  the  steps  of  the  saints  of  old ;  but  how  I  felt  when 
that  poor  child  spoke  of  wanting  to  see  the  Pope  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mona,  "  it 's  like  sending  the  lamb  to  get 
spiritual  counsel  of  the  wolf." 

"  See  what  sweet  belief  the  poor  infant  has  !  Should  not 
the  head  of  the  Christian  Church  be  such  as  she  thinks  ? 
Ah,  in  the  old  days,  when  the  Church  here  in  Rome  was 
poor  and  persecuted,  there  were  popes  who  were  loving 
fathers  and  not  haughty  princes." 

"  My  dear  Lady,"  said  the  servant,  "  pray,  consider,  the 
very  stones  have  ears.  We  don't  know  what  day  we  may 
be  turned  out,  neck  and  heels,  to  make  room  for  some  of 
their  creatures." 

"  Well,  Mona,"  said  the  lady,  with  some  spirit,  "  I  'm  sure 
I  have  n't  said  any  more  than  you  have." 

"  Holy  Mother !  and  so  you  have  n't,  but  somehow  things 
look  more  dangerous  when  other  people  say  them.  —  A 
pretty  child  that  was,  as  you  say ;  but  that  old  thing,  her 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  379 

grandmother,  is  a  sharp  piece.  She  is  a  Roman,  and  lived 
here  in  her  early  days.  She  says  the  little  one  was  born 
hereabouts  ;  but  she  shuts  up  her  mouth  like  a  vice,  when 
one  would  get  more  out  of  her." 

"  Mona,  I  shall  not  go  out  to-morrow  ;  but  you  go  to  the 
services,  and  find  the  girl  and  her  grandmother,  and  bring 
them  out  to  me.  I  want  to  counsel  the  child." 

"  You  may  be  sure,"  said  Mona,  "  that  her  grandmother 
knows  the  ins  and  outs  of  Rome  as  well  as  any  of  us,  for  all 
she  has  learned  to  screw  up  her  lips  so  tight." 

"  At  any  rate,  bring  her  to  me,  because  she  interests  me." 

"  Well,  well,  it  shall  be  so,"  said  Mona. 


380  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

PALM    SUNDAY. 

THE  morning  after  her  arrival  in  Rome,  Agnes  was 
awakened  from  sleep  by  a  solemn  dropping  of  bell- tones 
which  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  air,  intermingled  dimly  at 
intervals  with  long-drawn  plaintive  sounds  of  chanting. 
She  had  slept  profoundly,  overwearied  with  her  pilgrimage, 
and  soothed  by  that  deep  lulling  sense  of  quiet  which  comes 
over  one,  when,  after  long  and  weary  toils,  some  auspicious 
goal  is  at  length  reached.  She  had  come  to  Rome,  and 
been  received  with  open  arms  into  the  household  of  the 
saints,  and  seen  even  those  of  highest  degree  imitating  the 
simplicity  of  the  Lord  in  serving  the  poor.  Surely,  this 
was  indeed  the  house  of  God  and  the  gate  of  heaven ;  and 
so  the  bell-tones  and  chants,  mingling  with  her  dreams, 
seemed  naturally  enough  angel-harpings  and  distant  echoes 
of  the  perpetual  adoration  of  the  blessed.  She  rose  and 
dressed  herself  with  a  tremulous  joy.  She  felt  full  of  hope 
that  somehow  —  in  what  way  she  could  not  say  —  this 
auspicious  beginning  would  end  in  a  full  fruition  of  all  her 
wishes,  an  answer  to  all  her  prayers. 

"  Well,  child,"  said  old  Elsie,  "  you  must  have  slept  well ; 
you  look  fresh  as  a  lark." 

"  The  air  of  this  holy  place  revives  me,"  said  Agnes,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much,"  said  Elsie.     "  My  bones 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  381 

ache  yet  with  the  tramp,  and  I  suppose  nothing  will  do  but 
we  must  go  out  now  to  all  the  holy  places,  up  and  down  and 
hither  and  yon,  to  everything  that  goes  on.  I  saw  enough 
of  it  all  years  ago  when  I  lived  here." 

"  Dear  grandmother,  if  you  are  tired,  why  should  you 
not  rest?  I  can  go  forth  alone  in  this  holy  city.  No 
harm  can  possibly  befall  me  here.  I  can  join  any  of  the 
pilgrims  who  are  going  to  the  holy  places  where  I  long 
to  worship." 

"  A  likely  story !  "  said  Elsie.  "  I  know  more  about  old 
Rome  than  you  do,  and  I  tell  you,  child,  that  you  do  not  stir 
out  a  step  without  me  ;  so  if  you  must  go,  I  must  go  too,  — 
and  like  enough  it 's  for  my  soul's  health.  I  suppose  it  is," 
she  added,  after  a  reflective  pause. 

"  How  beautiful  it  was  that  we  were  welcomed  so  last 
night  ! "  said"  Agnes,  — "  that  dear  lady  was  so  kind  to 
me!" 

"  Ay,  ay,  and  well  she  might  be ! "  said  Elsie,  nodding  her 
head.  "  But  there  's  no  truth  in  the  kindness  of  the  nobles 
to  us,  child.  They  don't  do  it  because  they  love  us,  but  be 
cause  they  expect  to  buy  heaven  by  washing  our  feet  and 
giving  us  what  little  they  can  clip  and  snip  off  from  their 
abundance." 

"  Oh,  grandmother,"  said  Agnes,  "  how  can  you  say  so  ? 
Certainly,  if  any  one  ever  spoke  and  looked  lovingly,  it  was 
that  dear  lady." 

"  Yes,  and  she  rolls  away  in  her  carriage,  well  content, 
and  leaves  you  with  a  pair  of  new  shoes  and  stockings,  — 
you,  as  worthy  of  a  carriage  and  a  palace  as  she." 

"  No,  grandmamma ;  she  said  she  should  send  for  me  to 
talk  more  with  her."  . 

"  She  said  she  should*  send  for  you  ?  "  said  Elsie.     "  Well, 


382  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

well,  that  is  strange,  to  be  sure  !  —  that  is  wonderful !  "  she 
added,  reflectively.  "  But  come,  child,  we  must  hasten 
through  our  breakfast  and  prayers,  and  go  to  see  the 
Pope,  and  all  the  great  birds  with  fine  feathers  that  fly 
after  him." 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  said  Agnes,  joyfully.  "  Oh,  grandmamma, 
what  a  blessed  sight  it  will  be  !  " 

"  Yes,  child,  and  a  fine  sight  enough  he  makes  with  his 
great  canopy  and  his  plumes  and  his  servants  and  his  trum 
peters  ;  —  there  is  n't  a  king  in  Christendom  that  goes  so 
proudly  as  he." 

"  No  other  king  is  worthy  of  it,"  said  Agnes.  "  The  Lord 
reigns  in  him." 

"  Much  you  know  about  it ! "  said  Elsie,  between  her 
teeth,  as  they  started  out. 

The  streets  of  Rome  through  which  they  walked  were 
damp  and  cellar-like,  filthy  and  ill-paved ;  but  Agnes  neither 
saw  nor  felt  anything  of  inconvenience  in  this :  had  they 
been  floored,  like  those  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  with  trans 
lucent  gold,  her  faith  could  not  have  been  more  fervent. 

Rome  is  at  all  times  a  forest  of  quaint  costumes,  a  pan 
tomime  of  shifting  scenic  effects  of  religious  ceremonies. 
Nothing  there,  however  singular,  strikes  the  eye  as  out- 
of-the-way  or  unexpected,  since  no  one  knows  precisely  to 
what  religious  order  it  may  belong,  or  what  individual  vow 
or  purpose  it  may  represent.  Neither  Agnes  nor  Elsie, 
therefore,  was  surprised,  when  they  passed  through  the  door 
way  to  the  street,  at  the  apparition  of  a  man  covered  from 
head  to  foot  in  a  long  robe  of  white  serge,  with  a  high- 
peaked  cap  of  the  same  material  drawn  completely  down 
over  his  head  and  face.  Two  round  holes  cut  in  this  ghostly 
head-gear  revealed  simply  two  black  glittering  eyes,  which 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  383 

shone  with  that  singular  elfish  effect  which  belongs  to  the 
human  eye  when  removed  from  its  appropriate  and  natural 
accessories.  As  they  passed  out,  the  figure  rattled  a  box  on 
which  was  painted  an  image  of  despairing  souls  raising  im 
ploring  hands  from  very  red  tongues  of  flame,  by  which  it 
was  understood  at  once  that  he  sought  aid  for  souls  in  Pur 
gatory.  Agnes  and  her  grandmother  each  dropped  therein 
a  small  coin  and  went  on  their  way  ;  but  the  figure  followed 
them  at  a  little  distance  behind,  keeping  carefully  within 
sight  of  them. 

By  means  of  energetic  pushing  and  striving,  Elsie  con 
trived  to  secure  for  herself  and  her  grandchild  stations  in 
the  piazza  in  front  of  the  church,  in  the  very  front  rank, 
where  the  procession  was  to  pass.  A  motley  assemblage  it 
was,  this  crowd,  comprising  every  variety  of  costume  of 
rank  and  station  and  ecclesiastical  profession,  —  cowls  and 
hoods  of  Franciscan  and  Dominican, — picturesque  head 
dresses  of  peasant-women  of  different  districts,  —  plumes 
and  ruffs  of  more  aspiring  gentility,  —  mixed  with  every 
quaint  phase  of  foreign  costume  belonging  to  the  strangers 
from  different  parts  of  the  earth  ;  —  for,  like  the  old  Jewish 
Passover,  this  celebration  of  Holy  Week  had  its  assemblage 
of  Parthians,  Medes,  Elamites,  dwellers  in  Mesopotamia, 
Cretes,  and  Arabians,  all  blending  in  one  common  memorial. 

Amid  the  strange  variety  of  persons  among  whom  they 
were  crowded,  Elsie  remarked  the  stranger  in  the  white 
sack,  who  had  followed  them,  and  who  had  stationed  him 
self  behind  them,  —  but  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  his 
presence  there  was  other  than  merely  accidental. 

And  now  came  sweeping  up  the  grand  procession,  brilliant 
with  scarlet  and  gold,  waving  with  plumes,  sparkling  with 
gems,  —  it  seemed  as  if  earth  had  been  ransacked  and  hu- 


384  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

man  invention  taxed  to  express  the  ultimatum  of  all  that 
could  dazzle  and  bewilder,  —  and,  with  a  rustle  like  that 
of  ripe  grain  before  a  swaying  wind,  all  the  multitude 
went  down  on  their  knees  as  the  cortege  passed.  Agnes 
knelt,  too,  with  clasped  hands,  adoring  the  sacred  vision 
enshrined  in  her  soul ;  and  as  she  knelt  with  upraised  eyes, 
her  cheeks  flushed  with  enthusiasm,  her  beauty  attracted 
the  attention  of  more  than  one  in  the  procession. 

"  There  is  the  model  which  our  master  has  been  looking 
for,"  said  a  young  and  handsome  man  in  a  rich  dress  of 
black  velvet,  who,  by  his  costume,  appeared  to  hold  the  rank 
of  first  chamberlain  in  the  Papal  suite. 

The  young  man  to  whom  he  spoke  gave  a  bold  glance  at 
Agnes  and  answered,  — 

"  Pretty  little  rogue,  how  well  she  does  the  saint !  * 

"  One  can  see,  that,  with  judicious  arrangement,  she  might 
make  a  nymph  as  well  as  a  saint,"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"  A  Daphne,  for  example,"  said  the  other,  laughing. 

"  And  she  would  n't  turn  into  a  laurel,  either,"  said  the 
first.  "  Well,  we  must  keep  our  eye  on  her."  And  as  they 
were  passing  into  the  church-door,  he  beckoned  to  a  servant 
in  waiting  and  whispered  something,  indicating  Agnes  with 
a  backward  movement  of  his  hand. 

The  servant,  after  this,  kept  cautiously  within  observing 
distance  of  her,  as  she  with  the  crowd  pressed  into  the  church 
to  assist  at  the  devotions. 

Long  and  dazzling  were  those  ceremonies,  when,  raised 
on  high  like  an  enthroned  God,  Pope  Alexander  VI.  re 
ceived  the  homage  of  bended  knee  from  the  ambassadors  of 
every  Christian  nation,  from  heads  of  all  ecclesiastical  orders, 
and  from  generals  and  chiefs  and  princes  and  nobles,  who, 
robed  and  plumed  and  gemmed  in  all  the  brightest  and 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  385 

proudest  that  earth  could  give,  bowed  the  knee  humbly  and 
kissed  his  foot  in  return  for  the  palm-branch  which  he  pre 
sented.  Meanwhile,  voices  of  invisible  singers  chanted  the 
simple  event  which  all  this  splendor  was  commemorating,  — 
how  of  old  Jesus  came  into  Jerusalem  meek  and  lowly,  rid 
ing  on  an  ass, —  how  His  disciples  cast  their  garments  in 
the  way,  and  the  multitude  took  branches  of  palm-trees  to 
come  forth  and  meet  Him,  —  how  He  was  seized,  tried,  con 
demned  to  a  cruel  death,  —  and  the  crowd,  with  dazzled  and 
wondering  eyes  following  the  gorgeous  ceremonial,  reflected 
little  how  great  was  the  satire  of  the  contrast,  how  different 
the  coming  of  that  meek  and  lowly  One  to  suffer  and  to  die 
from  this  triumphant  display  of  worldly  pomp  and  splendor 
in  His  professed  representative. 

But  to  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,  and  Agnes  thought 
only  of  the  enthronement  of  all  virtues,  of  all  celestial  char 
ities  and  unworldly  purities  in  that  splendid  ceremonial,  and 
longed  within  herself  to  approach  so  near  as  to  touch  the 
hem  of  those  wondrous  and  sacred  garments.  It  was  to  her 
enthusiastic  imagination  like  the  unclosing  of  celestial  doors, 
where  the  kings  and  priests  of  an  eternal  and  heavenly 
temple  move  to  and  fro  in  music,  with  the  many-colored 
glories  of  rainbows  and  sunset  clouds.  Her  whole  nature 
was  wrought  upon  by  the  sights  and  sounds  of  that  gorgeous 
worship,  —  she  seemed  to  burn  and  brighten  like  an  altar- 
coal,  her  figure  appeared  to  dilate,  her  eyes  grew  deeper  and 
shone  with  a  starry  light,  and  the  colpr  of  her  cheeks  flushed 
up  with  a  vivid  glow,  —  nor  was  she  aware  how  often  eyes 
were  turned  upon  her,  nor  how  murmurs  of  admiration  fol 
lowed  all  her  absorbed,  unconscious  movements.  "  Ecco  ! 
JEccola  !  "  was  often  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth  around 
her,  but  she  heard  it  not. 
17 


386  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

When  at  last  the  ceremony  was  finished,  the  crowd  rushed 
again  out  of  the  church  to  see  the  departure  of  various  dig 
nitaries.  There  was  a  perfect  whirl  of  dazzling  equipages, 
and  glittering  lackeys,  and  prancing  horses,  crusted  with 
gold,  naming  in  scarlet  and  purple,  retinues  of  cardinals  and 
princes  and  nobles  and  ambassadors  all  in  one  splendid  con 
fused  jostle  of  noise  and  brightness. 

Suddenly  a  servant  in  a  gorgeous  scarlet  livery  touched 
Agnes  on  the  shoulder,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  author 
ity, — 

"Young  maiden,  your  presence  is  commanded." 

"  Who  commands  it  ?  "  said  Elsie,  laying  her  hand  on  her 
grandchild's  shoulder  fiercely. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  whispered  two  or  three  women  of  the 
lower  orders  to  Elsie  at  once ;  "  don't  you  know  who  that  is  ? 
Hush,  for  your  life  !  " 

"  I  shall  go  with  you,  Agnes,"  said  Elsie,  resolutely. 

"  No,  you  will  not,"  said  the  attendant,  insolently.  "  This 
maiden  is  commanded,  and  none  else." 

"  He  belongs  to  the  Pope's  nephew,"  whispered  a  voice  in 
Elsie's  ear.  "  You  had  better  have  your  tongue  torn  out 
than  say  another  word."  Whereupon,  Elsie  found  herself 
actually  borne  backward  by  three  or  four  stout  women. 

Agnes  looked  round  and  smiled  on  her,  —  a  smile  full  of 
innocent  trust,  —  and  then,  turning,  followed  the  servant 
into  the  finest  of  the  equipages,  where  she  was  lost  to 
view. 

Elsie  was  almost  wild  with  fear  and  impotent  rage  ;  but  a 
low,  impressive  voice  now  spoke  in  her  ear.  It  came  from 
the  white  figure  which  had  followed  them  in  the  morning. 

"  Listen,"  it  said,  "  and  be  quiet ;  don't  turn  your  head, 
but  hear  what  I  tell  you.  Your  child  is  followed  by  those 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  387 

who  will  save  her.  Go  your  ways  whence  you  came.  Wait 
till  the  hour  after  the  Ave  Maria,  then  come  to  the  Porta 
San  Sebastiano,  and  all  will  be  well." 

When  Elsie  turned  to  look  she  saw  no  one,  but  caught  a 
distant  glimpse  of  a  white  figure  vanishing  in  the  crowd. 

She  returned  to  her  asylum,  wondering  and  disconsolate, 
and  the  first  person  whom  she  saw  was  old  Mona. 

"  Well,  good-morrow,  sister !  "  she  said.  "  Know  that  I 
am  here  on  a  strange  errand.  The  Princess  has  taken  such 
a  liking  to  you  that  nothing  will  do  but  we  must  fetch  you 
and  your  little  one  out  to  her  villa.  I  looked  everywhere 
for  you  in  church  this  morning.  Where  have  you  hid  your 
selves  ?  " 

"We  were  there,"  said  Elsie,  confused,  and  hesitating 
whether  to  speak  of  what  had  happened. 

"  Well,  where  is  the  little  one  ?  Get  her  ready ;  we 
have  horses  in  waiting.  It  is  a  good  bit  out  of  the 
city." 

"  Alack ! "  said  Elsie,  "  I  know  not  where  she  is." 

"Holy  Virgin!"  said  Mona,  "how  is  this?" 

Elsie,  moved  by  the  necessity  which  makes  it  a  relief  to 
open  the  heart  to  some  one,  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the 
church  and  poured  forth  the  whole  story  into  the  listening 
ear  of  Mona. 

"  Well,  well,  well !  "  said  the  old  servant,  "  in  our  days, 
one  does  not  wonder  at  anything,  —  one  never  knows  one 
day  what  may  come  the  next,  —  but  this  is  bad  enough ! " 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Elsie,  "  there  is  any  hope  in  that 
strange  promise  ?  " 

"  One  can  but  try  it,"  said  Mona. 

"  If  you  could  but  be  there  then,"  said  Elsie,  "  and  take 
us  to  your  mistress." 


388  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Well,  I  will  wait,  for  my  mistress  has  taken  an  especial 
fancy  to  your  little  one,  more  particularly  since  this  morning, 
when  a  holy  Capuchin  came  to  our  house  and  held  a  long 
conference  with  her,  and  after  he  was  gone  I  found  my  lady 
almost  in  a  faint,  and  she  would  have  it  that  we  should  start 
directly  to  bring  her  out  here,  and  I  had  much  ado  to  let  her 
see  that  the  child  would  do  quite  as  well  after  services  were 
over.  I  tired  myself  looking  about  for  you  in  the  crowd." 

The  two  women  then  digressed  upon  various  gossiping 
particulars,  as  they  sat  on  the  old  mossy,  grass-grown  steps, 
looking  up  over  house-tops  yellow  with  lichen,  into  the  blue 
spring  air,  where  flocks  of  white  pigeons  were  soaring  and 
careering  in  the  soft,  warm  sunshine.  Brightness  and 
warmth  and  flowers  seemed  to  be  the  only  idea  natural  to 
that  charming  weather,  and  Elsie,  sad-hearted  and  forebod 
ing  as  she  was,  felt  the  benign  influence.  Rome,  which  had 
been  so  fatal  a  place  to  her  peace,  yet  had  for  her,  as  it  has 
for  every  one,  potent  spells  of  a  lulling  and  soothing  power. 
Where  is  the  grief  or  anxiety  that  can  resist  the  enchant 
ment  of  one  of  Rome's  bright,  soft,  spring  days  ? 


AGNES  OF  SOIiRENTO.  389 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    NIGHT-RIDE. 

THE  villa  of  the  Princess  Paulina  was  one  of  those  soft, 
idyllic  paradises  which  lie  like  so  many  fairy-lands  around 
the  dreamy  solitudes  of  Rome.  They  are  so  fair,  so  wild,  so 
still,  these  villas !  Nature  in  them  seems  to  run  in  such 
gentle  sympathy  with  Art,  that  one  feels  as  if  they  had  not 
been  so  much  the  product  of  human  skill  as  some  indigenous 
growth  of  Arcadian  ages.  There  are  quaint  terraces  shad 
owed  by  clipped  ilex-trees,  whose  branches  make  twilight 
even  in  the  sultriest  noon ;  there  are  long-drawn  paths, 
through  wildernesses  where  cyclamens  blossom  in  crimson 
clouds  among  crushed  fragments  of  sculptured  marble  green 
with  the  moss  of  ages,  and  glossy-leaved  myrtles  put  forth 
their  pale  blue  stars  in  constellations  under  the  leafy  shad 
ows.  Everywhere  is  the  voice  of  water,  ever  lulling,  ever 
babbling,  and  taught  by  Art  to  run  in  many  a  quaint  caprice, 
—  here  to  rush  down  marble  steps  slippery  with  sedgy  green, 
there  to  spout  up  in  silvery  spray,  and  anon  to  spread  into  a 
cool,  waveless  lake,  whose  mirror  reflects  trees  and  flowers 
far  down  in  some  visionary  underworld.  Then  there  are 
wide  lawns,  where  the  grass  in  spring  is  a  perfect  rainbow 
of  anemones,  white,  rose,  crimson,  purple,  mottled,  streaked, 
and  dappled  with  ever  varying  shade  of  sunset  clouds. 
There  are  soft,  moist  banks  where  purple  and  white  violets 
grow  large  and  fair,  and  trees  all  interlaced  with  ivy,  which 
runs  and  twines  everywhere,  intermingling  its  dark,  graceful 


390  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

leaves  and  vivid  young  shoots  with  the  bloom  and  leafage  of 
all  shadowy  places. 

In  our  day,  these  lovely  places  have  their  dark  shadow 
ever  haunting  their  loveliness :  the  malaria,  like  an  unseen 
demon,  lies  hid  in  their  sweetness.  And  in  the  time  we  are 
speaking  of,  a  curse  not  less  deadly  poisoned  the  beauties 
of  the  Princess's  villa,  —  the  malaria  of  fear. 

The  gravelled  terrace  in  front  of  the  villa  commanded, 
through  the  clipped  arches  of  the  ilex-trees,  the  Campagna 
with  its  soft,  undulating  bands  of  many-colored  green,  and 
the  distant  city  of  Rome,  whose  bells  were  always  filling  the 
air  between  with  a  tremulous  vibration.  Here,  during  the 
long  sunny  afternoon  while  Elsie  and  Monica  were  crooning 
together  on  the  steps  of  the  church,  the  Princess  Paulina 
walked  restlessly  up  and  down,  looking  forth  on  the  way 
towards  the  city  for  the  travellers  whom  she  expected. 

Father  Francesco  had  been  there  that  morning  and  com 
municated  to  her  the  dying  message  of  the  aged  Capuchin, 
from  which  it  appeared  that  the  child  who  had  so  much  in 
terested  her  was  her  near  kinswoman.  Perhaps,  had  her 
house  remained  at  the  height  of  its  power  and  splendor,  she 
might  have  rejected  with  scorn  the  idea  of  a  kinswoman 
whose  existence  had  been  owing  to  a  mesalliance ;  but  a 
member  of  an  exiled  and  disinherited  family,  deriving  her 
only  comfort  from  unworldly  sources,  she  regarded  this 
event  as  an  opportunity  afforded  her  to  make  expiation  for 
one  of  the  sins  of  her  house.  The  beauty  and  winning 
graces  of  her  young  kinswoman  were  not  without  their  in 
fluence  in  attracting  a  lonely  heart  deprived  of  the  support 
of  natural  ties.  The  Princess  longed  for  something  to  love, 
and  the  discovery  of  a  legitimate  object  of  family  affection 
was  an  event  in  the  weary  monotony  of  her  life ;  and  there- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  391 

fore  it  was  that  the  hours  of  the  afternoon  seemed  long  while 
she  looked  forth  towards  Rome,  listening  to  the  ceaseless 
chiming  of  its  bells,  and  wondering  why  no  one  appeared 
along  the  road. 

The  sun  went  down,  and  all  the  wide  plain  seemed  like 
the  sea  at  twilight,  lying  in  rosy  and  lilac  and  purple 
shadowy  bands,  out  of  which  rose  the  old  city,  solemn  and 
lonely  as  some  enchanted  island  of  dream-land,  with  a  flush 
of  radiance  behind  it  and  a  tolling  of  weird  music  filling  all 
the  air  around.  Now  they  are  chanting  the  Ave  Maria  in 
hundreds  of  churches,  and  the  Princess  worships  in  distant 
accord,  and  tries  to  still  the  anxieties  of  her  heart  with  many 
a  prayer.  Twilight  fades  and  fades,  the  Campagna  becomes 
a  black  sea,  and  the  distant  city  looms  up  like  a  dark  rock 
against  the  glimmering  sky,  and  the  Princess  goes  within 
and  walks  restlessly  through  the  wide  halls,  stopping  first  at 
one  open  window  and  then  at  another  to  listen.  Beneath 
her  feet  she  treads  a  cool  mosaic  pavement  where  laughing 
Cupids  are  dancing.  Above,  from  the  ceiling,  Aurora  and 
the  Hours  look  down  in  many-colored  clouds  of  brightness. 
The  sound  of  the  fountains  without  is  so  clear  in  the  intense 
stiljness  that  the  peculiar  voice  of  each  one  can  be  told. 
That  is  the  swaying  noise  of  the  great  jet  that  rises  from 
marble  shells  and  falls  into  a  wide  basin,  where  silvery 
swans  swim  round  and  round  in  enchanted  circles  ;  and  the 
other  slenderer  sound  is  the  smaller  jet  that  rains  down  its 
spray  into  the  violet-borders  deep  in  the  shrubbery ;  and 
that  other,  the  shallow  babble  of  the  waters  that  go  down 
the  marble  steps  to  the  lake.  How  dreamlike  and  plaintive 
they  all  sound  in  the  night  stillness !  Tlie  nightingale  sings 
from  the  dark  shadows  of  the  wilderness ;  and  the  musky 
odors  of  the  cyclamen  come  floating  ever  and  anon  through 


392  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

the  casement,  in  that  strange,  cloudy  way  in  which  flower 
scents  seem  to  come  and  go  in  the  air  in  the  night  season. 

At  last  the  Princess  fancies  she  hears  the  distant  tramp 
of  horses'  feet,  and  her  heart  beats  so  that  she  can  scarcely 
listen :  now  she  hears  it,  —  and  now  a  rising  wind,  sweep 
ing  across  the  Campagna,  seems  to  bear  it  moaning  away. 
She  goes  to  a  door  and  looks  out  into  the  darkness.  Yes, 
she  hears  it  now,  quick  and  regular,  —  the  beat  of  many 
horses'  feet  coming  in  hot  haste  along  the  road.  Surely  the 
few  servants  whom  she  has  sent  cannot  make  all  this  noise  ! 
and  she  trembles  with  vague  affright.  Perhaps  it  is  a 
tyrannical  message,  bringing  imprisonment  and  death.  She 
calls  a  maid,  and  bids  her  bring  lights  into  the  reception- 
hall.  A  few  moments  more,  and  there  is  a  confused  stamp 
ing  of  horses'  feet  approaching  the  house,  and  she  hears  the 
voices  of  her  servants.  She  runs  into  the  piazza,  and  sees 
dismounting  a  knight  who  carries  Agnes  in  his  arms  pale 
and  fainting.  Old  Elsie  and  Monica,  too,  dismount,  with 
the  Princess's  men-servants;  but,  wonderful  to  tell,  there 
seems  besides  them  to  be  a  train  of  some  hundred  armed 
horsemen. 

The  timid  Princess  was  so  fluttered  and  bewildered, that 
she  lost  all  presence  of  mind,  and  stood  in  uncomprehending 
wonder,  while  Monica  pushed  authoritatively  into  the  house, 
and  beckoned  the  knight  to  bring  Agnes  and  lay  her  on  a 
sofa,  when  she  and  old  Elsie  busied  themselves  vigorously 
with  restoratives. 

The  Lady  Paulina,  as  soon  as  she  could  collect  her  scat 
tered  senses,  recognized  in  Agostino  the  banished  lord  of  the 
Sarelli  family,  a  race  who  had  shared  with  her  own  the 
hatred  and  cruelty  of  the  Borgia  tribe ;  and  he  in  turn  had 
recognized  a  daughter  of  the  Colonnas. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  393 

He  drew  her  aside  into  a  small  boudoir  adjoining  the 
apartment. 

"  Noble  lady,"  he  said,  "  we  are  companions  in  misfortune, 
and  so,  I  trust,  you  will  pardon  what  seems  a  tumultuous 
intrusion  on  your  privacy.  I  and  my  men  came  to  Rome 
in  disguise,  that  we  might  watch  over  and  protect  this  poor 
innocent,  who  now  finds  asylum  with  you." 

"  My  Lord,"  said  the  Princess,  "  I  see  in  this  event  the 
wonderful  working  of  the  good  God.  I  have  but  just  learned 
that  this  young  person  is  my  near  kinswoman ;  it  was  only 
this  morning  that  the  fact  was  certified  to  me  on  the  dying 
confession  of  a  holy  Capuchin,  who  privately  united  my 
brother  to  her  mother.  The  marriage  was  an  indiscretion 
of  his  youth  ;  but  afterwards  he  fell  into  more  grievous  sin 
in  denying  the  holy  sacrament,  and  leaving  his  wife  to  die 
in  misery  and  dishonor,  and  perhaps  for  this  fault  such  great 
judgments  fell  upon  him.  I  wish  to  make  atonement  in 
such  sort  as  is  yet  possible  by  acting  as  a  mother  to  this 
child." 

"  The  times  are  so  troublous  and  uncertain,"  said  Agos- 
tino,  "  that  she  must  have  stronger  protection  than  that  of 
any  woman.  She  is  of  a  most  holy  and  religious  nature, 
but  as  ignorant  of  sin  as  an  angel  who  never  has  seen  any 
thing  out  of  heaven;  and  so  the  Borgias  enticed  her  into 
their  impure  den,  from  which,  God  helping,  I  have  saved 
her.  I  tried  all  I  could  to  prevent  her  coming  to  Rome,  and 
to  convince  her  of  the  vileness  that  ruled  here  ;  but  the  poor 
little  one  could  not  believe  me,  and  thought  me  a  heretic 
only  for  saying  what  she  now  knows  from  her  own  senses." 

The  Lady  Paulina  shuddered  with  fear. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  come  into  collision  with  the 
dreadful  Borgias  ?     What  will  become  of  us  ?  " 
17* 


394  AGNES   OF  SORRENTO. 

"I  brought  a  hundred  men  into  Rome  in  different  dis 
guises,"  said  Agostino,  "and  we  gained  over  a  servant  in 
their  household,  through  whom  I  entered  and  carried  her  off. 
Their  men  pursued  us,  and  we  had  a  fight  in  the  streets, 
but  for  the  moment  we  mustered  more  than  they.  Some 
of  them  chased  us  a  good  distance.  But  it  will  not  do  for 
us  to  remain  here.  As  soon  as  she  is  revived  enough,  we 
must  retreat  towards  one  of  our  fastnesses  in  the  mountains, 
whence,  when  rested,  we  shall  go  northward  to  Florence, 
where  I  have  powerful  friends,  and  she  has  also  an  uncle,  a 
holy  man,  by  whose  counsels  she  is  much  guided." 

"You  must  take  me  with  you,"  said  the  Princess,  in  a 
tremor  of  anxiety.  "  Not  for  the  world  would  I  stay,  if  it 
be  known  you  have  taken  refuge  here.  For  a  long  time 
their  spies  have  been  watching  about  me  ;  they  only  wait 
for  some  occasion  to  seize  upon  my  villa,  as  they  have  on  the 
possessions  of  all  my  father's  house.  Let  me  flee  with  you. 
I  have  a  brother-in-law  in  Florence  who  hath  often  urged 
me  to  escape  to  him  till  times  mend,  —  for,  surely,  God  will 
not  allow  the  wicked  to  bear  rule  forever." 

"  Willingly,  noble  lady,  will  we  give  you  our  escort,  —  the 
more  so  that  this  poor  child  will  then  have  a  friend  with  her 
beseeming  her  father's  rank.  Believe  me,  lady,  she  will  do 
no  discredit  to  her  lineage.  She  was  trained  in  a  convent, 
and  her  soul  is  a  flower  of  marvellous  beauty.  I  must  de 
clare  to  you  here  that  I  have  wooed  her  honorably  to  be  my 
wife,  and  she  would  willingly  be  so,  had  not  some  scruples 
of  a  religious  vocation  taken  hold  on  her,  to  dispel  which  I 
look  for  the  aid  of  the  holy  father,  her  uncle." 

"  It  would  be  a  most  fit  and  proper  thing,"  said  the  Prin 
cess,  "  thus  to  ally  our  houses,  in  hope  of  some  good  time  to 
come  which  shall  restore  their  former  standing  and  posses- 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  395 

sions.  Of  course  some  holy  man  must  judge  of  the  obstacle 
interposed  by  her  vocation ;  but  I  doubt  not  the  Church 
will  be  an  indulgent  mother  in  a  case  where  the  issue  seems 
so  desirable." 

"  If  I  be  married  to  her,"  said  Agostino,  "  I  can  take  her 
out  of  all  these  strifes  and  confusions  which  now  agitate  our 
Italy  to  the  court  of  France,  where  I  have  an  uncle  high  in 
favor  with  the  King,  and  who  will  use  all  his  influence  to 
compose  these  troubles  in  Italy,  and  bring  about  a  better 
day." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  bountiful  refresh 
ments  had  been  provided  for  the  whole  party,  and  the  at 
tendants  of  the  Princess  received  orders  to  pack  all  her 
jewels  and  valuable  effects  for  a  sudden  journey. 

As  soon  as  preparations  could  be  made,  the  whole  party 
left  the  villa  of  the  Princess  for  a  retreat  in  the  Alban 
Mountains,  where  Agostino  and  his  band  had  one  of  their 
rendezvous.  Only  the  immediate  female  attendants  of  the 
Princess,  and  one  or  two  men-servants,  left  with  her.  The 
silver  plate,  and  all  objects  of  particular  value,  were  buried 
in  the  garden.  This  being  done,  the  keys  of  the  house  were 
intrusted  to  a  gray-headed  servant,  who  with  his  wife  had 
grown  old  in  the  family. 

It  was  midnight  before  everything  was  ready  for  starting. 
The  moon  cast  silver  gleams  through  the  ilex-avenues,  and 
caused  the  jet  of  the  great  fountain  to  look  like  a  wavering 
pillar  of  cloudy  brightness,  when  the  Princess  led  forth 
Agnes  upon  the  wide  veranda.  Two  gentle,  yet  spirited 
little  animals  from  the  Princess's  stables  were  there 
awaiting  them,  and  they  were  lifted  into  their  saddles  by 
Agostino. 

"  Fear   nothing,  Madam,"   he    said,  observing   how    the 


396  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

hands  of  the  Princess  trembled ;  "  a  few  hours  will  put 
us  in  perfect  safety,  and  I  shall  be  at  your  side  con 
stantly." 

Then  lifting  Agnes  to  her  seat,  he  placed  the  reins  in 
her  hand. 

"  Are  you  rested  ? "  he  asked. 

It  was  the  first  time  since  her  rescue  that  he  had  spoken 
to  Agnes.  The  words  were  brief,  but  no  expressions  of 
endearment  could  convey  more  than  the  manner  in  which 
they  were  spoken. 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  said  Agnes  firmly,  "  I  am  rested." 

"  You  think  you  can  bear  the  ride  ?  " 

"  I  can  bear  anything,  so  I  escape,"  she  said. 

The  company  were  now  all  mounted,  and  were  marshalled 
in  regular  order.  A  body  of  armed  men  rode  in  front ;  then 
came  Agnes  and  the  Princess,  with  Agostino  between  them, 
while  two  or  three  troopers  rode  on  either  side  ;  Elsie, 
Monica,  and  the  servants  of  the  Princess  followed  close 
behind,  and  the  rear  was  brought  up  in  like  manner  by 
armed  men. 

The  path  wound  first  through  the  grounds  of  the  villa, 
with  its  plats  of  light  and  shade,  its  solemn  groves  of  stone- 
pines  rising  like  palm-trees  high  in  air  above  the  tops  of  all 
other  trees,  its  terraces  and  statues  and  fountains, — all  seem 
ing  so  lovely  in  the  midnight  stillness. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  leaving  all  this  forever,"  said  the  Prin 
cess. 

"  Let  us  hope  for  the  best,"  said  Agostino.  "  It  cannot 
be  that  God  will  suffer  the  seat  of  the  Apostles  to  be  sub 
jected  to  such  ignominy  and  disgrace  much  longer.  I  am 
amazed  that  no  Christian  kings  have  interfered  before  for  the 
honor  of  Christendom.  I  have  it  from  the  best  authority 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  397 

that  the  King  of  Naples  burst  into  tears  when  he  heard  of 
the  election  of  this  wretch  to  be  Pope.  He  said  that  it  was 
a  scandal  which  threatened  the  very  existence  of  Christiani 
ty.  He  has  sent  me  secret  messages  divers  times  expressive 
of  sympathy,  but  he  is  not  of  himself  strong  enough.  Our 
hope  must  lie  either  in  the  King  of  France  or  the  Emperor 
of  Germany :  perhaps  both  will  engage.  There  is  now  a 
most  holy  monk  in  Florence  who  has  been  stirring  all  hearts 
in  a  wonderful  way.  It  is  said  that  the  very  gifts  of  miracles 
and  prophesy  are  revived  in  him,  as  among  the  holy  Apos 
tles,  and  he  has  been  bestirring  himself  to  have  a  General 
Council  of  the  Church  to  look  into  these  matters.  When  I 
left  Florence,  a  short  time  ago,  the  faction  opposed  to  him 
broke  into  the  convent  and  took  him  away.  I  myself  was 
there." 

"  What !  "  said  Agnes,  "  did  they  break  into  the  convent 
of  the  San  Marco?     My  uncle  is  there." 

"  Yes,  and  he  and  I  fought  side  by  side  with  the  mob  who 
were  rushing  in." 

"  Uncle  Antonio  fight !  "  said  Agnes,  in  astonishment. 

"  Even  women  will  fight,  when  what  they  love  most  is 
attacked,"  said  the  knight. 

He  turned  to  her,  as  he  spoke,  and  saw  in  the  moonlight 
a  flash  from  her  eye,  and  an  heroic  expression  on  her  face, 
such  as  he  had  never  remarked  before ;  but  she  said  nothing. 
The  veil  had  been  rudely  torn  from  her  eyes  ;  she  had  seen 
with  horror  the  defilement  and  impurity  of  what  she  had 
ignorantly  adored  in  holy  places,  and  the  revelation  seemed 
to  have  wrought  a  change  in  her  whole  nature. 
*  "  Even  you  could  fight,  Agnes,"  said  the  knight,  "  to  save 
your  religion  from  disgrace." 

"  No,"  said  she ;  "  but,"  she  added,  with  gathering  firm- 


398  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

ness,  "  I  could  die.  I  should  be  glad  to  die  with  and  for  the 
holy  men  who  would  save  the  honor  of  the  true  faith.  I 
should  like  to  go  to  Florence  to  my  uncle.  If  he  dies  for 
his  religion,  I  should  like  to  die  with  him." 

"  Ah,  live  to  teach  it  to  me ! "  said  the  knight,  bending 
towards  her,  as  if  to  adjust  her  bridle-rein,  and  speaking  in 
a  voice  scarcely  audible.  In  a  moment  he  was  turned  again 
towards  the  Princess,  listening  to  her. 

"  So  it  seems,"  she  said,  "  that  we  shall  be  running  into 
the  thick  of  the  conflict  in  Florence." 

"  Yes,  but  my  uncle  hath  promised  that  the  King  of 
France  shall  interfere.  I  have  hope  something  may  even 
now  have  been  done.  I  hope  to  effect  something  myself." 

Agostino  spoke  with  the  cheerful  courage  of  youth.  Ag 
nes  glanced  timidly  up  at  him.  How  great  the  change  in 
her  ideas !  No  longer  looking  on  him  as  a  wanderer  from 
the  fold,  an  enemy  of  the  Church,  he  seemed  now  in  the 
attitude  of  a  champion  of  the  faith,  a  defender  of  holy  men 
and  things  against  a  base  usurpation.  What  injustice  had 
she  done  him,  and  how  patiently  had  he  borne  that  injustice ! 
Had  he  not  sought  to  warn  her  against  the  danger  of  ven 
turing  into  that  corrupt  city  ?  Those  words  which  so  much 
shocked  her,  against  which  she  had  shut  her  ears,  were  all 
true  ;  she  had  found  them  so ;  she  could  doubt  no  longer. 
And  yet  he  had  followed  her,  and  saved  her  at  the  risk  of 
his  life.  Could  she  help  loving  one  who  had  loved  her  so 
much,  one  so  noble  and  heroic  ?  Would  it  be  a  sin  to  love 
him  ?  She  pondered  the  dark  warnings  of  Father  Fran 
cesco,  and  then  thought  of  the  cheerful,  fervent  piety  of  her 
old  uncle.  How  warm,  how  tender,  how  life-giving  had 
been  his  presence  always  !  how  full  of  faith  and  prayer,  how 
fruitful  of  heavenly  words  and  thoughts  had  been  all  his 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  399 

ministrations  !  —  and  yet  it  was  for  him  and  with  him  and 
his  master  that  Agostino  Sarelli  was  fighting,  and  against 
him  the  usurping  head  of  the  Christian  Church.  Then  there 
was  another  subject  for  pondering  during  this  night-ride. 
The  secret  of  her  birth  had  been  told  her  by  the  Princess, 
who  claimed  her  as  kinswoman.  It  had  seemed  to  her  at 
first  like  the  revelations  of  a  dream ;  but  as  she  rode  and 
reflected,  gradually  the  idea  shaped  itself  in  her  mind.  She 
was,  in  birth  and  blood,  the  equal  of  her  lover,  and  hence 
forth  her  life  would  no  more  be  in  that  lowly  plane  where  it 
had  always  moved.  She  thought  of  the  little  orange-garden 
at  Sorrento,  of  the  gorge  with  its  old  bridge,  the  Convent, 
the  sisters,  with  a  sort  of  tender,  wondering  pain.  Perhaps 
she  should  see  them  no  more.  In  this  new  situation  she 
longed  once  more  to  see  and  talk  with  her  old  uncle,  and  to 
have  him  tell  her  what  were  her  duties. 

Their  path  soon  began  to  be  a  wild  clamber  among  the 
mountains,  now  lost  in  the  shadow  of  groves  of  gray,  rustling 
olives,  whose  knotted,  serpent  roots  coiled  round  the  rocks, 
and  whose  leaves  silvered  in  the  moonlight  whenever  the 
wind  swayed  them.  Whatever  might  be  the  roughness  and 
difficulties  of  the  way,  Agnes  found  her  knight  ever  at  her 
bridle-rein,  guiding  and  upholding,  steadying  her  in  her  sad 
dle  when  the  horse  plunged  down  short  and  sudden  descents, 
and  wrapping  her  in  his  mantle  to  protect  her  from  the  chill 
mountain-air.  When  the  day  was  just  reddening  in  the  sky, 
the  whole  troop  made  a  sudden  halt  before  a  square  stone 
tower  which  seemed  to  be  a  portion  of  a  ruined  building,  and 
here  some  of  the  men  dismounting  knocked  at  an  arched 
door.  It  was  soon  swung  open  by  a  woman  with  a  lamp  in 
her  hand,  the  light  of  which  revealed  very  black  hair  and 
eyes,  and  heavy  gold  ear-rings. 


400  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

"  Have  my  directions  been  attended  to  ?  "  said  Agostino, 
in  a  tone  of  command.  "  Are  there  places  made  ready  for 
these  ladies  to  sleep?" 

"  There  are,  my  Lord,"  said  the  woman,  obsequiously,  — 
"  the  best  we  could  get  ready  on  so  short  a  notice." 

Agostino  came  up  to  the  Princess.  "  Noble  Madam," 
he  said,  "  you  will  value  safety  before  all  things ;  doubtless 
the  best  that  can  be  done  here  is  but  poor,  but  it  will  give 
you  a  few  hours  for  repose  where  you  may  be  sure  of  being 
in  perfect  safety." 

So  saying,  he  assisted  her  and  Agnes  to  dismount,  and 
Elsie  and  Monica  also  alighting,  they  followed  the  woman 
into  a  dark  stone  passage  and  up  some  rude  stone  steps. 
She  opened  at  last  the  door  of  a  brick-floored  room,  where 
beds  appeared  to  have  been  hastily  prepared.  There  was 
no  furniture  of  any  sort  except  the  beds.  The  walls  were 
dusty  and  hung  with  cobwebs.  A  smaller  apartment  open 
ing  into  this  had  beds  for  Elsie  and  Monica. 

The  travellers,  however,  were  too  much  exhausted  with 
their  night-ride  to  be  critical,  the  services  of  disrobing  and 
preparing  for  rest  were  quickly  concluded,  and  in  less  than 
an  hour  all  were  asleep,  while  Agostino  was  busy  concerting 
the  means  for  an  immediate  journey  to  Florence. 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  401 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  LET   US    ALSO    GO,   THAT    WE    MAY   DIE    WITH   HIM." 

FATHER  ANTONIO  sat  alone  in  his  cell  in  the  San  Marco 
in  an  attitude  of  deep  dejection.  The  open  window  looked 
into  the  garden  of  the  convent,  from  which  steamed  up  the 
fragrance  of  violet,  jasmine,  and  rose,  and  the  sunshine  lay 
fair  on  all  that  was  without.  On  a  table  beside  him  were 
many  loose  and  scattered  sketches,  and  an  unfinished  page 
of  the  Breviary  he  was  executing,  rich  in  quaint  tracery  of 
gold  and  arabesques,  seemed  to  have  recently  occupied  his 
attention,  for  his  palette  was  wet  and  many  loose  brushes 
lay  strewed  around.  Upon  the  table  stood  a  Venetian  glass 
with  a  narrow  neck  and  a  bulb  clear  and  thin  as  a  soap- 
bubble,  containing  vines  and  blossoms  of  the  passion-flower, 
w,hich  he  had  evidently  been  using  as  models  in  his 
work. 

The  page  he  was  illuminating  was  the  prophetic  Psalm" 
which  describes  the  ignominy  and  sufferings  of  the  Redeem 
er.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  wreathed  border  of  thorn- 
branches  interwoven  with  the  blossoms  and  tendrils  of  the 
passion-flower,  and  the  initial  letters  of  the  first  two  words 
were  formed  by  a  curious  combination  of  the  hammer,  the 
nails,  the  spear,  the  crown  of  thorns,  the  cross,  and  other 
instruments  of  the  Passion  ;  and  clear,  in  red  letter, 
gleamed  out  those  wonderful,  mysterious  words,  consecrated 
by  the  remembrance  of  a  more  than  mortal  anguish,  — 
"  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 


402  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

The  artist-monk  had  perhaps  fled  to  his  palette  to  assuage 
the  throbbings  of  his  heart,  as  a  mourning  mother  flies  to 
the  cradle  of  her  child ;  but  even  there  his  grief  appeared 
to  have  overtaken  him,  for  the  work  lay  as  if  pushed  from 
him  in  an  access  of  anguish  such  as  comes  from  the  sudden 
recurrence  of  some  overwhelming  recollection.  He  was 
leaning  forward  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  sobbing 
convulsively. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  man  advancing  stealthily  behind 
laid  a  hand  kindly  on  his  shoulder,  saying  softly,  "  So,  so, 
brother ! " 

Father  Antonio  looked  up,  and,  dashing  his  hand  hastily 
across  his  eyes,  grasped  that  of  the  new-comer  convulsive 
ly,  and  saying  only,  "  Oh,  Baccio  !  Baccio ! "  hid  his  face 
again. 

The  eyes  of  the  other  filled  with  tears,  as  he  answered 
gently,  — 

"  Nay,  but,  my  brother,  you  are  killing  yourself.  They 
tell  me  that  you  have  eaten  nothing  for  three  days,  and  slept 
not  for  weeks  ;  you  will  die  of  this  grief." 

"  Would  that  I  might !  Why  could  not  I  die  with  him 
as  well  as  Fra  Domenico  ?  Oh,  my  master  !  my  dear 
master ! " 

"  It  is  indeed  a  most  heavy  day  to  us  all,"  said  Baccio 
della  Porta,  the  amiable  and  pure-minded  artist  better 
known  to  our  times  by  his  conventual  name  of  Fra  Bar- 
tolommeo.  "  Never  have  we  had  among  us  such  a  man  ; 
and  if  there  be  any  light  of  grace  in  my  soul,  his  preach 
ing  first  awakened  it,  brother.  I  only  wait  to  see  him 
enter  Paradise,  and  then  I  take  farewell  of  the  world  for 
ever.  I  am  going  to  Prato  to  take  the  Dominican  habit, 
and  follow  him  as  near  as  I  may." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  403 

"  It  is  well,  Baccio,  it  is  well,"  said  Father  Antonio ; 
"but  you  must  not  put  out  the  light  of  your  genius  in 
those  shadows,  —  you  must  still  paint  for  the  glory  of 
God." 

"  I  have  no  heart  for  painting  now,"  said  Baccio,  de 
jectedly.  "  He  was  my  inspiration,  he  taught  me  the  holier 
way,  and  he  is  gone." 

At  this  moment  the  conference  of  the  two  was  interrupted 
by  a  knocking  at  the  door,  and  Agostino  Sarelli  entered, 
pale  and  disordered. 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  he  said,  hastily.  "  What  devils'  carnival 
is  this  which  hath  broken  loose  in  Florence  ?  Every  good 
thing  is  gone  into  dens  and  holes,  and  every  vile  thing  that 
can  hiss  and  spit  and  sting  is  crawling  abroad.  What  do 
the  princes  of  Europe  mean  to  let  such  things  be  ?  " 

"  Only  the  old  story,"  said  Father  Antonio,  —  "  Principes 
convenerunt  in  unum  adversus  Dominum,  adversus  Christum 


So  much  were  all  three  absorbed  in  the  subject  of  their 
thoughts,  that  no  kind  of  greeting  or  mark  of  recognition 
passed  among  them,  such  as  is  common  when  people  meet 
after  temporary  separation.  Each  spoke  out  from  the  ful 
ness  of  his  soul,  as  from  an  overflowing  bitter  fountain. 

"  Was  there  no  one  to  speak  for  him,  —  no  one  to  stand 
up  for  the  pride  of  Italy,  —  the  man  of  his  age  ? "  said 
Agostino. 

"  There  was  one  voice  raised  for  him  in  the  council,"  said 
Father  Antonio.  "  There  was  Agnolo  Niccolini :  a  grave 
man  is  this  Agnolo,  and  of  great  experience  in  public  affairs, 
and  he  spoke  out  his  mind  boldly.  He  told  them  flatly,  that, 
if  they  looked  through  the  present  time  or  the  past  ages, 
they  would  not  meet  a  man  of  such  a  high  and  noble  order 


404  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

as  this,  and  that  to  lay  at  our  door  the  blood  of  a  man  the 
like  of  whom  might  not  be  born  for  centuries  was  too  impi 
ous  and  execrable  a  thing  to  be  thought  of.  I  '11  warrant  me, 
he  made  a  rustling  among  them  when  he  said  that,  and  the 
Pope's  commissary  —  old  Romalino  —  then  whispered  and 
frowned ;  but  Agnolo  is  a  stiff  old  fellow  when  he  once  be 
gins  a  thing,  —  he  never  minded  it,  and  went  through  with 
his  say.  It  seems  to  me  he  said  that  it  was  not  for  us  to 
quench  a  light  like  this,  capable  of  giving  lustre  to  the  faith 
even  when  it  had  grown  di'm  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  — 
and  not  to  the  faith  alone,  but  to  all  the  arts  and  sciences 
connected  with  it.  If  it  were  needed  to  put  restraint  on 
him,  he  said,  why  not  put  him  into  some  fortress,  and  give 
him  commodious  apartments,  with  abundance  of  books,  and 
pen,  ink,  and  paper,  where  he  would  write  books  to  the 
honor  of  God  and  the  exaltation  of  the  holy  faith  ?  He  told 
them  that  this  might  be  a  good  to  the  world,  whereas  con 
signing  him  to  death  without  use  of  any  kind  would  bring 
on  our  republic  perpetual  dishonor." 

"  Well  said  for  him ! "  said  Baccio,  with  warmth ;  "  but 
I  '11  warrant  me,  he  might  as  well  have  preached  to  the 
north  wind  in  March,  his  enemies  are  in  such  a  fury." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Antonio,  "  it  is  just  as  it  was  of  old :  the 
chief  priests  and  Scribes  and  Pharisees  were  instant  with 
loud  voices,  requiring  he  should  be  put  to  death  ;  and  the 
easy  Pilates,  for  fear  of  the  tumult,  washed  their  hands 
of  it." 

"  And  now,"  said  Agostino,  "  they  are  putting  up  a  great 
gibbet  in  the  shape  of  a  cross  in  the  public  square,  where 
they  will  hang  the  three  holiest  and  best  men  of  Florence ! '' 

"  I  came  through  there  this  morning,"  said  Baccio,  "  and 
there  were  young  men  and  boys  shouting,  and  howling,  and 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  405 

singing  indecent  songs,  and  putting  up  indecent  pictures, 
such  as  those  he  used  to  preach  against.  It  is  just  as  you 
say.  All  things  vile  have  crept  out  of  their  lair,  and  tri 
umph  that  the  man  who  made  them  afraid  is  put  down  ;  and 
every  house  is  full  of  the  most  horrible  lies  about  him,  — 
things  that  they  said  he  confessed." 

"  Confessed  !  "  said  Father  Antonio,  —  "  was  it  not  enough 
that  they  tore  and  tortured  him  seven  times,  but  they  must 
garble  and  twist  the  very  words  that  he  said  in  his  agony  ? 
The  process  they  have  published  is  foully  falsified,  —  stuffed 
full  of  improbable  lies ;  for  I  myself  have  read  the  first 
draught  of  all  he  did  say,  just  as  Signer  Ceccone  took  it 
down  as  they  were  torturing  him.  I  had  it  from  Jacopo 
Manelli,  canon  of  our  Duomo  here,  and  he  got  it  from  Cec- 
conne's  wife  herself.  They  not  only  can  torture  and  slay 
him,  but  they  torture  and  slay  his  memory  with  lies." 

"  Would  I  were  in  God's  place  for  one  day  ! "  said  Agos- 
tino,  speaking  through  his  clenched  teeth.  "  May  I  be  for 
given  for  saying  so  !  " 

"We  are  hot  and  hasty,"  said  Father  Antonio,  "ever 
ready  to  call  down  fire  from  heaven,  —  but  after  all,  '  the 
Lord  reigneth,  let  the  earth  rejoice.'  '  Unto  the  upright 
there  ariseth  light  in  the  darkness.'  Our  dear  father  is  sus 
tained  in  spirit  and  full  of  love.  Even  when  they  let  him 
go  from  the  torture,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  praying  for  his 
tormentors." 

"  Good  God  !  this  passes  me ! "  said  Agostino,  striking 
his  hands  together.  "  Oh,  wherefore  hath  a  strong  man 
arms  and  hands,  and  a  sword,  if  he  must  stand  still  and  see 
such  things  done  ?  If  I  had  only  my  hundred  mountaineers 
here,  I  would  make  one  charge  for  him  to-morrow.  If  I 
could  only  do  something  ! "  he  added,  striding  impetuously 


406  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

up  and  down  the  cell  and  clenching  his  fists.  "  What !  hath 
nobody  petitioned  to  stay  this  thing?" 

"  Nobody  for  him,"  said  Father  Antonio.  "  There  was 
talk  in  the  city  yesterday  that  Fra  Domenico  was  to  be  par 
doned  ;  in  fact,  Romalino  was  quite  inclined  to  do  it,  but 
Battista  Alberti  talked  violently  against  it,  and  so  Romalino 
said,  *  Well,  a  monk  more  or  less  is  n't  much  matter,'  and 
then  he  put  his  name  down  for  death  with  the  rest.  The 
order  was  signed  by  both  commissaries  of  the  Pope,  and  one 
was  Fra.  Turiano,  the  general  of  our  order,  a  mild  man,  full 
of  charity,  but  unable  to  stand  against  the  Pope." 

"  Mild  men  are  nuisances  in  such  places,"  said  Agostino, 
hastily ;  "  our  times  want  something  of  another  sort." 

"  There  be  many  who  have  fallen  away  from  him  even  in 
our  house  here,"  said  Father  Antonio,  — "  as  it  was  with 
our  blessed  Lord,  whose  disciples  forsook  him  and  fled.  It 
seems  to  be  the  only  thought  with  some  how  they  shall 
make  their  peace  with  the  Pope." 

"And  so  the  thing  will  be  hurried  through  to-morrow," 
said  Agostino,  "  and  when  it 's  done  and  over,  I  '11  warrant 
me  there  will  be  found  kings  and  emperors  to  say  they 
meant  to  have  saved  him.  It 's  a  vile,  evil  world,  this  of 
ours ;  an  honorable  man  longs  to  see  the  end  of  it.  But," 
he  added,  coming  up  and  speaking  to  Father  Antonio,  "  I 
have  a  private  message  for  you." 

"  I  am  gone  this  moment,"  said  Baccio,  rising  with  ready 
courtesy  ;  "  but  keep  up  heart,  brother." 

So  saying,  the  good-hearted  artist  left  the  cell,  and  Agos 
tino  said, — 

"  I  bring  tidings  to  you  of  your  kindred.  Your  niece  and 
sister  are  here  in  Florence,  and  would  see  you.  You  will 
find  them  at  the  house  of  one  Gherardo  Rosselli,  a  rich  citi 
zen  of  noble  blood." 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  407 

"  "Why  are  they  there  ? "  said  the  monk,  lost  in  amaze 
ment. 

"  You  must  know,  then,  that  a  most  singular  discovery 
hath  been  made  by  your  niece  at  Rome.  The  sister  of  her 
father,  being  a  lady  of  the  princely  blood  of  Colonna,  hath 
been  assured  of  her  birth  by  the  confession  of  the  priest  that 
married  him ;  and  being  driven  from  Rome  by  fear  of  the 
Borgias,  they  came  hither  under  my  escort,  and  wait  to  see 
you.  So,  if  you  will  come  with  me  now,  I  will  guide  you 
to  them." 
. "  Even  so,"  said  Father  Antonio. 


408  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

MARTYRDOM. 

IN  a  shadowy  chamber  of  a  room  overlooking  the  grand 
square  of  Florence  might  be  seen,  on  the  next  morning, 
some  of  the  principal  personages  of  our  story.  Father 
Antonio,  Baccio  della-  Porta,  Agostino  Sarelli,  the  Princess 
Paulina,  Agnes,  with  her  grandmother,  and  a  mixed  crowd 
of  citizens  and  ecclesiastics,  who  all  spoke  in  hushed  and 
tremulous  voices,  as  men  do  in  the  chamber  of  mourners  at  a 
funeral.  The  great,  mysterious  bell  of  the  Campanile  was 
swinging  with  dismal,  heart-shaking  toll,  like  a  mighty  voice 
from  the  spirit-world  ;  and  it  was  answered  by  the  tolling  of 
all  the  bells  in  the  city,  making  such  wavering  clangors  and 
vibrating  circles  in  the  air  over  Florence  that  it  might 
seem  as  if  it  were  full  of  warring  spirits  wrestling  for 
mastery. 

Toll !  toll !  toll !  O  great  bell  of  the  fair  Campanile !  for 
this  day  the  noblest  of  the  wonderful  men  of  Florence  is  to 
be  offered  up.  Toll !  for  an  era  is  going  out,  —  the  era  of 
her  artists,  her  statesmen,  her  poets,  and  her  scholars.  Toll ! 
for  an  era  is  coming  in,  —  the  era  of  her  disgrace  and  sub 
jugation  and  misfortune ! 

The  stepping  of  the  vast  crowd  in  the  square  was  like  the 
patter  of  a  great  storm,  and  the  hum  of  voices  rose  up  like 
the  murmur  of  the  ocean ;  but  in  the  chamber  all  was  so 
still  that  one  could  have  heard  the  dropping  of  a  pin. 

Under  the  balcony  of  this  room  were  seated  in  pomp  and 


AGNES  OF  SORRENTO.  409 

state  the  Papal  commissioners,  radiant  in  gold  and  scarlet 
respectability ;  and  Pilate  and  Herod,  on  terms  of  the  most 
excellent  friendship,  were  ready  to  act  over  again  the  part 
they  had  acted  fourteen  hundred  years  before.  Now  has 
arrived  the  moment  when  the  three  followers  of  the  Man  of 
Calvary  are  to  be  degraded  from  the  fellowship  of  His  visi 
ble  Church. 

Father  Antonio,  Agostino,  and  Baccio,  stood  forth  in  the 
balcony,  and,  drawing  in  their  breath,  looked  down,  as  the 
three  men  of  the  hour,  pale  and  haggard  with  imprisonment 
and  torture,  were  brought  up  amid  the  hoots  and  obscene 
jests  of  the  populace.  Savonarola  first  was  led  before  the 
tribunal,  and  there,  with  circumstantial  minuteness,  endued 
with  all  his  priestly  vestments,  which  again,  with  separate 
ceremonies  of  reprobation  and  ignominy,  were  taken  from 
him.  He  stood  through  it  all  serene  as  stood  his  Master 
when  stripped  of  His  garments  on  Calvary.  There  is  a 
momentary  hush  of  voices  and  drawing  in  of  breaths  in  the 
great  crowd.  The  Papal  legate  takes  him  by  the  hand  and 
pronounces  the  words,  "  Jerome  Savonarola,  I  separate  thee 
from  the  Church  Militant  and  the  Church  Triumphant." 

He  is  going  to  speak. 

"  What  says  he  ?  "  said  Agostino,  leaning  over  the  balcony. 

Solemnly  and  clear  that  impressive  voice  which  so  often 
had  thrilled  the  crowds  in  that  very  square  made  answer,  — 

"  From  the  Church  Militant  you  may  divide  me ;  but 
from  the  Church  Triumphant,  no,  —  that  is  above  your 
power!  "  —  and  a  light  flashed  out  in  his  face  as  if  a  smile 
from  Christ  had  shone  down  upon  him. 

"  Amen ! "    said  Father  Antonio  ;  "  he  hath  witnessed  a 
good  confession,"  —  and  turning,  he  went  in,  and,  burying 
his  face  in  his  hands,  remained  in  prayer. 
18 


410  AGNES  OF   SORRENTO. 

When  like  ceremonies  had  been  passed  through  with  the 
others,  the  three  martyrs  were  delivered  to  the  secular  exe 
cutioner,  and,  amid  the  scoffs  and  jeers  of  the  brutal  crowd, 
turned  their  faces  to  the  gibbet. 

"  Brothers,  let  us  sing  the  Te  Deum,"  said  Savonarola. 

"  Do  not  so  infuriate  the  mob,"  said  the  executioner,  — 
"for  harm  might  be  done." 

"  At  least  let  us  repeat  it  together,"  said  he,  "  lest  we 
forget  it." 

And  so  they  went  forward,  speaking  to  each  other  of  the 
glorious  company  of  the  apostles,  the  goodly  fellowship  of 
the  prophets,  the  noble  army  of  martyrs,  and  giving  thanks 
aloud  in  that  great  triumphal  hymn  of  the  Church  of  all 
Ages. 

When  the  lurid  fires  were  lighted  which  blazed  red  and 
fearful  through  that  crowded  square,  all  in  that  silent  cham 
ber  fell  on  their  knees,  and  Father  Antonio  repeated  prayers 
for  departing  souls. 

To  the  last,  that  benignant  right  hand  which  had  so  often 
pointed  the  way  of  life  to  that  faithless  city  was  stretched 
out  over  the  crowd  in  the  attitude  of  blessing ;  and  so  loving, 
not  hating,  praying  with  exaltation,  and  rendering  blessing 
for  cursing,  the  souls  of  the  martyrs  ascended  to  the  great 
cloud  of  witnesses  above. 


AGNES   OF  SORRENTO.  411 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

CONCLUSION. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  death  of  Savonarola,  Father  An 
tonio  was  found  one  morning  engaged  in  deep  converse  with 
Agnes. 

The  Princess  Paulina,  acting  for  her  family,  desired  to 
give  her  hand  to  the  Prince  Agostino  Sarelli,  and  the  inter 
view  related  to  the  religious  scruples  which  still  conflicted 
with  the  natural  desires  of  the  child. 

"  Tell  me,  my  little  one,"  said  Father  Antonio,  "  frankly 
and  truly,  dost  thou  not  love  this  man  with  all  thy  heart  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  father,  I  do,"  said  Agnes ;  "  but  ought  I  not  to 
resign  this  love  for  the  love  of  my  Saviour  ?  " 

"  I  see  not  why,"  said  the  monk.  "  Marriage  is  a  sacra 
ment  as  well  as  holy  orders,  and  it  is  a  most  holy  and  ven 
erable  one,  representing  the  divine  mystery  by  which  the 
souls  of  the  blessed  are  united  to  the  Lord.  I  do  not  hold 
with  Saint  Bernard,  who,  in  his  zeal  for  a  conventual  life, 
seemed  to  see  no  other  way  of  serving  God  but  for  all  men 
and  women  to  become  monks  and  nuns.  The  holy  order  is 
indeed  blessed  to  those  souls  whose  call  to  it  is  clear  and 
evident,  like  mine  ;  but  if  there  be  a  strong  and  virtuous 
love  for  a  worthy  object,  it  is  a  vocation  unto  marriage, 
which  should  not  be  denied." 

"  So,  Agnes,"  said  the  knight,  who  had  stolen  into  the 
room  unperceived,  and  who  now  boldly  possessed  himself  of 
one  of  her  hands "  Father  Antonio  hath  decided  this 


412  AGNES  OF  SORRENTO. 

matter,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  Princess  and  Elsie,  who 
entered,  "and  everything  having  been  made  ready  for  my 
journey  into  France,  the  wedding  ceremony  shall  take  place 
on  the  morrow,  and,  for  that  we  are  in  deep  affliction,  it 
shall  be  as  private  as  may  be." 

And  so  on  the  next  morning  the  wedding  ceremony  took 
place,  and  the  bride  and  groom  went  on  their  way  to  France, 
where  preparations  befitting  their  rank  awaited  them. 

Old  Elsie  was  heard  to  observe  to  Monica,  that  there  was 
some  sense  in  making  pilgrimages,  since  this  to  Rome,  which 
she  had  undertaken  so  unwillingly,  had  turned  out  so  satis 
factory. 

In  the  reign  of  Julius  II.,  the  banished  families  who  had 
been  plundered  by  the  Borgias  were  restored  to  their  rights 
and  honors  at  Rome ;  and  there  was  a  princess  of  the  house 
of  Sarelli  then  at  Rome,  whose  sanctity  of  life  and  manners 
was  held  to  go  back  to  the  traditions  of  primitive  Christian 
ity,  so  that  she  was  renowned  not  less  for  goodness  than  for 
rank  and  beauty. 

In  those  days,  too,  Raphael  the  friend  of  Fra  Bartolom- 
meo,  placed  in  one  of  the  grandest  halls  of  the  Vatican, 
among  the  Apostles  and  Saints,  the  image  of  the  traduced 
and  despised  martyr  whose  ashes  had  been  cast  to  the  winds 
and  waters  in  Florence.  His  memory  lingered  long  in  Italy, 
so  that  it  was  even  claimed  that  miracles  were  wrought  in 
his  name  and  by  his  intercession.  Certain  it  is,  that  the 
living  words  he  spoke  were  seeds  of  immortal  flowers  which 
blossomed  in  secret  dells  and  obscure  shadows  of  his  beau 
tiful  Italy. 

THE    END. 


03^  Any  Books  in  this  list  will  be  sent  free  of  postage,  on  receipt 
of  price. 

BOSTON,  135  WASHINGTON  STREET, 
MAT,  1862. 

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A  POET'S  JOURNAL.    In  Press. 


by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  9 

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[POETRY.] 

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10       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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"  MINSTRELSY,  ANCIENT    AND   MODERN. 

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[PROSE.] 

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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 


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12       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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"  HISTORY  OF  THE  KING'S  CHAPEL,  BOS 

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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  13 


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14       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  15 


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16       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifted. 


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